It was very much like a real house, with one central stalagmite that looked like a column and a waterfall that served when she wanted to bathe. "What's that?" demanded McClintock. The parlour was cluttered but cosy. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik. ’ She turned, her eyes narrowed. ’ Bitterness rose up as he looked at the female.
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