"Society's going to the dogs these
days. One meets all sorts of people. It's perfectly deplorable."
"Beastly," agreed Ossie, stumbling over a chair. "Bar Harbor's getting
very common, I fear."
"Hello, that's pretty!" exclaimed Perry. They had emerged onto a walled
space that looked straight out over the water. Hundreds of lights dotted
the purple darkness and the air held the mingled fragrance of sea and
roses. "This isn't so punk, you know," continued Perry, leaning over the
wall. "Maybe this would suit me as well as an island."
"You're on an island," Ossie reminded him.
"I meant a real island," murmured Perry. Ossie was about to argue the
matter when footsteps approached and they moved off again. A flight of
steps led to a stone-floored verandah and they went up it and perched
themselves on the parapet, to the probable detriment of the ivy growing
across it, and watched the colourful scene. They were quite alone there,
for the porch was detached from the terrace that crossed the front of
the house. Two French windows were opened and beyond them lay a
dimly-lighted library. Perry, hugging one foot in his hands, looked in
approvingly.
"Whoever owns this shanty knows what's what," he said. "Just have a
squint at all those books, will you? Millions of them! Wonder if anyone
has ever read them.
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