They open for the befuddlingly popular, triumphantly average Toad the Wet Sprocket.
It was not large, but of unusual height, and fitted up with great costliness. The bookcases were ebony, inlaid with green morocco, and so were the tables, and the curtains were of crimson velvet.
The rising sun peered between the cypress trees flooding the Grand Plaza with yellow matinal light. The backside of the palace overlooked the plaza with balconies supported by two tiers of colonnades and was framed on each of the three other sides by columned façades of buildings constructed from marble and stone. This plaza was the pride of the acropolitan village that served the palace. It was separated from the foyer where Alexis’ window overlooked simply by a tiny lane of one-storey village houses.
At the far end of the houses the head gardener stood waiting for his mistress, and he gave her strips of bass to tie up her nosegay. This she did slowly and laboriously, with knuckly old fingers that shook.
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