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| The scent of jasmine is like a proverbial trail of bread crumbs ias one decends the stairs to see corridors, leading through the maze of hallways and rooms, maybe to a particular chamber at the far corner of the cellar� Blacker than black is the door, but the light that peeks from beneath it is a shade of blush, and as that door swings wide, the colors in the air refuse to swell, and that sense of something hidden, something precise and carefully arranged, only grows. |
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| Inside the room , plain Regency fireplace... restrained mouldings near the ceiling... the picture of simplicity... nestled into the corner, between hearth and window, are a s card table of polished cherry, a side table topped with a brass candlestick, and a pair of plush parlor chairs lined with antique satin, striped rose and eggshell. Along one wall is a row of closets, their knobs barely visible against the doors but for the fact that they shine with lacquer. Inside are the many secrets remaining from times past . |
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