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- And it is such a pleasure, my dear, such a very great pleasure when now and again I open the door and I see someone standing there who is just exactly right.” She was halfway up the stairs, and she paused with one hand on the stair rail, turning her head and smiling down at him with pale lips. “Like you,” she added, and her blue eyes traveled slowly all the way down the length of Billy’s body, to his feet, and then up again. He noticed that the bedspread had been taken off the bed and that the bedclothes had been neatly turned back on one side, all ready for someone to get in.
- Thank you, thank you ever so much.
- And this one is all yours, I hope you'll like it.
- He found the guest book lying open on the table so he took out his pen and wrote down his name and address. There were only two other entries above his on the page, and as one always does with guest books, he started to read them. One was a Christopher Mulholland from Cardiff. The other was Gregory W. Temple from Bristol. That’s funny, he thought suddenly. Christopher Mulholland. It rings a bell. Now where on earth had he heard that rather unusual name before?
- “Gregory Temple?” “Christopher Mulholland? . . .”
- Such charming boys. They were tall and young and handsome, my dear, just exactly like you. And he is still here. Mr. Temple is also here, they're on the fourth floor together.
- It must be most awfully difficult to do a thing like that Billy said. Not in the least, I stuff all my little pets myself when they pass away. Will you have another cup of tea? she asked him. No, thank you, Billy said. The tea tasted faintly of bitter almonds, and he didn’t much care for it.
- Excuse my asking, but haven’t there been any other guests here except them in the last two or three years?
- No, my dear, only you.
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