Читать книгу The Counterplot онлайн
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He felt sick as he thought of time, in fifteen years ... ten years ... having corroded the brilliant flakes of contemporary paint, faded the arabesque of strange words and unexpected thoughts, and revealed underneath the grains of pounce.
Brilliant ... there was Oscar Wilde, of course ... but then, Oscar Wilde!
He must find out what value exactly she attached to brilliancy.
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It was past seven o’clock when Captain Roderick Dundas and Mr. David Munroe drove up side by side to Plasencia.
If they did not find much to say to each other, the fault was not Rory’s; for he was a friendly creature, ready, as he put it, “to babble to any one at his grandmother’s funeral.”
In appearance he was rather like Guy, only much taller. They had both inherited considerable prettiness from their respective mothers—“the beautiful Miss Brabazons,” whose beauty and high spirits had made a great stir at their début in the eighties.
As to David Munroe; he was a huge man of swarthy complexion, slow of speech and of movement, and with large, rather melancholy brown eyes.