The girl was flushed with excitement, bright-eyed, and braced for a struggle; her aunt had never seen her looking so fine or so pretty. But she no longer felt Jacomo’s age, even if she looked it. From the centre of the ceiling hung a replica of the temple lamp in the Taj Mahal. He pushed her to his bed, little more than a cot, and pulled off her clothes. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. “I suppose I should let go if I had. " This she did carefully, but inwardly commenting that he was still in the realm of strange fancies.
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