“I emptied my pocket on to the hall table among the airmail Times copies and shuffled the ikon together. Rosamund said, ‘What’s that? It doesn’t smell very nice.’ The bandeau she was wearing drew attention to her large open eyes and high cheekbones. She had the kind of fine, sallow skin that flushes easily. It began to turn red as I answered her. It became redder and redder, and then returned to being quite pale. Rosamund Booker-Readman said, ‘You are talking absolute rubbish. Of course that isn...’t the ikon my husband lost. Anyone can see it’s some cheap reproduction. Give it me. You’ll give us all typhoid.’ And lifting the whole sopping bundle, she stalked down the basement and as I watched her, thrust the lot into the boiler. It burned like firewood. When the last chip was consumed she banged the door shut and came upstairs for some handwashing. ‘Well?’ she said. ‘Hadn’t you better get on with the feed? Or has Benedict lost his fascination now you’ve met the Eisenkopps?’ I said good-night and I hoped she’d have a pleasant evening.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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