“The nearly-completed mansion lifts pearly spires to the morning sunlight, defying any recognized architectural convention, but undeniably impressive. In the vast garden careful terraces have been built, and little fruit trees planted there. Roses are in their first bloom, along palm-shaded walks. In a meadow under the green mountain Mays mendozaii waves abundantly, quite refusing to produce lysine at the desired levels. In a beach chair, Father—in white linen suit, with trousers perfectly press...ed—makes notes on a text plaquette. Mother wears a light summer gown, sort of a Jane Austen number, and is leaning against his knees. Beside her, bowing deferential from the waist, a big horribly black-bearded image of a man (butler, perhaps? Father’s regimental batman?) has just offered her a glass of champagne from the tray carried by his servounit. The Black Dyke Mills Band wafts from a speaker, playing something sentimental scored for French horns. The six-year-old twins wear matching white sailor suits.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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