“Viola is a pretty name.”
“Thank you, Mr. Dicky.”
Viola twisted a brass handle that resembled a bird’s wing and pushed open the door. Amber light and the smells of lilacs and cinnamon spilled out into the hall and into Dicky. The girl gently pulled him into her chamber.
An oil lantern hung behind an amber sleeve and radiated soft light that illuminated a large bed, a tall mahogany wardrobe (which was decorated with luxuriating nymphs), a low bureau, and a porcelain washbasin that was embossed with flowers. The wallpaper was brown with copper stripes, and the curtains over the lone window were of gold-colored lace.
At present, Viola shut the door.
“This room is very nice,” said Dicky.
“Thank you. We each take care of our own.”
“Would you please lock the door?”
“We’re not supposed to
