Miss Dunbarton spent a long moment standing at the base of the staircase, absorbing the scene incredulously. At last her paralysis broke, and she moved gingerly forward. At the sound of her footsteps a couple leapt up from behind the couch, smoothing down rumpled clothes. The maid muttered an apology and ran upstairs. The Secret Service agent looked stricken, hung his head, and made for the side door. Before she could find the heart to press on, Dunbarton bolstered herself with the hair of the dog. Then she set her jaw and pressed into the worst of the devastation, pausing to lift the needle from the turntable as she passed. Shards of broken ornaments and drinking glasses crackled underfoot. The smell of smoke was everywhere; her prohibition had been not only disobeyed but outright flouted. Give these girls an inch, and they took a mile. But the fault was partly her own. She had miscalculated her own consumption and retired earlier than intended – and now she was paying the price. The Waterbury clock was still intact on the mantle, thank goodness.
What do You think about The Art Of The Devil (2014)?
