She was dressed in khaki, khaki slacks and khaki shirt, practical and workmanlike.

She lifted her night-dress over her head and for a moment caught a glimpse of her nakedness in the tarnished looking-glass—plumply rounded thighs and knees, the dimple in her stomach.

But upon his arrival, Lewis discovers that his uncle’s place is no threadbare bachelor pad. It’s a creaky old Victorian mansion, full of overstuffed chairs, flocked wallpaper, stained glass, creepy carnival curios, and dozens and dozens of clocks.

Saints Days, &c. … 9 … Ember-week … 11 … Ember-day … 12 … Ember-day