His eyes were bright with the hunt. “Women know these things by instinct,” she answered. The threadbare remainders of the dinner discussion hovered over the topics of obsessive fans of the science fiction and horror genres. Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself. Spurling stood her negro attendant, Caliban; a hideous, misshapen, malicious monster, with broad hunched shoulders, a flat nose, and ears like those of a wild beast, a head too large for his body, and a body too long for his legs. But there must be an Englishman who would like to marry her to get Remenham House. There was no response. You would be alarmed of how sulphurous it is, how sickeningly sweet.
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