The Lamplight-Letters: Chapter Twenty-three
There’s something peculiar about visiting a friend’s house for the very first time. You’ve known the one, but not the other, until you’re invited over and the two are slapped together like a sandwich. The friend influences your opinion of the house, the house influences your opinion of the friend, and you end up seeing both in a different light than you would have otherwise.
As I stepped out of the car and stood squinting up at Dove Manor, my mind was already busy sticking Clive inside and shuffling around everything I knew about him, as much as I wished it wouldn’t. Of course, I had already known Clive’s family was well-off, but the house before me was quite a bit beyond what I had expected. How to reconcile the shrewd, tireless boy I knew, who seemed to live by wits and close-scrapes alone, with something so imposing, so venerable and grand?
If I was honest, the place was more than that–it was intimidating. Perhaps that was why it reminded me so of Dreycott . . .
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