This preview shows page 1. Sign up to view the full content.
Unformatted text preview: en out. It was all bloody. But he didn't have to abolish the old scheme of double parlors, did he? Well, he had. Mayfair Blasphemy. It was one vast room now, with a giant soft sofa beneath the arch against the inside wall. A nice scattering of French chairs-all Oncle Julien's to hear him tell it, now tricked out in new gold damask or a striped fabric, wickedly rich looking, and a glass table through which you could see the dark amber colors of the enormous old rug. It must have been twenty-five feet, that rug, to stretch through both rooms as it did, embracing the floor before both of the hearths. And how old it looked, like something out of the attic upstairs, most likely. Maybe Michael had brought it down with the gilded chairs. They'd said the only orders he'd given after he came home were to change that double parlor. Put Julien's things down there. Make it look entirely different. Made sense. He'd obviously wanted to erase all traces of Rowan; he had wanted to obliterate the rooms in which they...
View Full Document
- Spring '10