(Art by me)
Immaculate but well-mended portières of yellow and brown chintz danced fitfully on either side—and a matching counterpane was scattered across the bed.
A sequel to scene 13
Boggling why he had ever gotten entailed—he stalked out—damning Louis and everything and everyone associated with him. Agathe witnessed his departure—then followed the clerk up the stairway that rose on the left. The tramps were engulfed with a runner of dark brown carpeting—poorly worn for the grit and sand tracked in from the street.
Tiny particles dazzled like gold dust where the sunbeams struck. The upper landing was eclipsed by hefty chocolate mantles framing the lone window at the far end of the corridor. The walls were painted a deep blue, almost green, and—were accentuated at regular intervals by narrow four-panel doors with tarnished brass numerals.
It appeared like a scruffier version of every other hotel she had stayed at on her journey—and Agathe extracted some solace from its insipid similitude. The clerk inserted a key in the fourth door on the left. He held the door open—and she crossed the threshold. Hot air met her—tempered faintly by the breeze blowing through the half-opened windows fronting the street.
Immaculate but well-mended portières of yellow and brown chintz danced fitfully on either side—and a matching counterpane was scattered across the bed. A machine-loomed oriental rug covered the center of the floor with washed-out tones of red and blue.
The wallpaper—which had once been white with red roses—was now gray with indistinct splotches of dull brown. It was the bed that impressed itself most robustly upon her notice. A double bed of tarnished brass.
"This here's the best room," the clerk said, looking suspiciously from Agathe to the dwindled walls and back. "I'll send Raphael up with yer luggage right away. Uh, if yer feeling peckish, there's a shamble of stewed prunes and some cold meat pie left from lunch. Otherwise, supper's downstairs in an hour."
"Thank you, but I am not really ravenous. I shall only want some warm water for bathing." How could she eat when her stomach was terrifying enough to crawl up into her throat?
"Suit yerself. The bath's behind that screen in the corner. Tub was brought up earlier." She hung her hat on an iron hook and smoothed her hair. Her face looked ghostly in the marbled mirror. Lost in scanning—she jumped and whirled around as the door swung open.