The night was clear and moonlit, dazzling with even light blue shadows that shone into manicured lawns and pristine gardens. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. “I looked for you on the way home from The Big Apple, where were you?” Lucy smiled. Sheppard. ‘I have an excellent excuse to remain comfortably ensconced in my parlour here, able to indulge in my favourite pastime.
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