In the living room, which was the first room I looked at, there was a modern three-piece suite with wooden arms, upholstered in a bright shade of peacock blue. In my opinion, peacock is a colour that suits peacocks and nothing else. There was also, occupying the whole of one wall, a large brown sideboard with curly wooden appendages: not carvings, just brown useless twists of nasty varnished wood. The carpet was bright red with brown flowers, and looked as though it were new. So, on inspection, did the three-piece suite. Apart from two flower vases with an iridescent finish, there was little else in the room. Having taken this in, I moved on, a little dazed, to the dining room, which contained a shiny, apparently unused table of such a strange, yellowy-white tint that I thought at first it must be made of some kind of synthetic material. It was surrounded by four chairs with high curved backs and upholstered red seats. There was also a tall yellow cupboard which looked as though it contained crockery. I did not have the courage to open it.

I made myself go on and look at the bedrooms, knowing already what they would be like. I could see all the time a vision of a conscientious landlord rubbing his hands with relief and thinking how well he had acquitted himself. And he had, too: there was no possible cause for complaint. The prize piece in our bedroom, and indeed, about the only other piece apart from the bed, was a wardrobe, a round-ended, round-topped wardrobe, with a high and streaky gloss. It was so large that it almost blocked the entrance into the room. The frightful pointless utility of its shape and its surface overwhelmed me, and I sat down on the bed and slowly began to unbutton my coat. If I had been given to crying, I might well have cried. If I did cry, this is the sort of thing that I would cry for. After a while David followed me upstairs. I could hear Flora running about gaily in the barnlike garage below.

“What’s the matter?” said David when he had opened the wardrobe door, shut it again and inspected himself in the mirror.

“Nothing’s the matter.”

“Which room is Pascal having? She wants that one with the yellow bedspread. She thinks it’s lovely.”

“She can have whatever she wants,” I said.

“All the packing cases are in the garage,” said David. “I think everything’s arrived. Do you want to go and have a look?”

“I have no desire at all to go and have a look,” I said.

“What is the matter, Emma? I think it’s very nice, don’t you?”

“No, I don’t,” I said. “I think it’s unspeakably hideous. I just can’t live in a place like this.”

“I don’t see what’s wrong with it.”

“Don’t you?”