The Night-Cellar XVIII. He returned her impressive greeting almost mechanically. Art was everywhere, underfoot in the form of mosaics, overhead in the form of architecture. ‘Not entirely English then. I want to fill it with fine and precious things. Mike had suffered severe depression in his first years with the Becks, but had grown to think of them as his natural family to the degree that his past seemed like a distant memory. His clothes were smartly pressed, his linen white, his jaws cleanly shaven; but the day would come when he would grow indifferent to bodily cleanliness.
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