At eight she could perform Chopin, sing Italian classics, paint and toe-dance.
The tide of her curiosity was running strongly when, at long last, she entered the blue room. It was a huge, handsome apartment, furnished with a massive mahogany suite, made sombre by reason of the prevailing dark blue colour of the walls, carpet and curtains. A dull red fire glowed in the steel grate. Although its closeness was mitigated with lavender-water, the atmosphere smelt faintly of rotten apples.
“Uh, guys?” Kayla piped up. “This is my business. Shouldn't you be questioning me and not the detective? At least, not at first.” You know, before you get all bromancey and decide to go on a date later.
The grandeur intoxication prompts the customary good natured obtrusion of the practice of nicotinism in to the presence of others.
