“I fail to see the joke,” Sir John said. A scene now ensued, highly characteristic of the age, and the occasion. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. 32 The curtains and tapestries had appeared over the windows before Marina had died, growing moldy from the dampness and the oils of lavender, clove, and clary sage soaking them. There was a photo of her that looked exactly like you. The man who came to our rooms, you know, that night was his friend.
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