is definitely a place akin to where you could imagine yourself spending a head-achy-day pent up indoors while on vacation with F.Scott Fitzgerald and Zelda Sayre.
Something cold and dark about the house, and lovely too, but the location gives little respite even behind closed doors, beckons the afternoon drunken-croquet-party to crash into the little peace you have with a flourish of giggling hands removing damp compresses from the foreheads of those wishing a few more hours of quiet, at least.
You know, I absolutely despise the word "respite" I hate everything about it.
ReplyDeleteWhat a horrid sound it makes.