My gaze ran back. This end of the room was draped with the
exquisitely coloured, graceful curtains looped with gorgeous garlands.
Between curtains and table, where sat Larry and the nine, a circular
platform, perhaps ten yards in diameter, raised itself a few feet
above the floor, its gleaming surface half-covered with the luminous
petals, fragrant, delicate.
On each side below it, were low carven stools. The curtains parted
and softly entered girls bearing their flutes, their harps, the
curiously emotion-exciting, octaved drums. They sank into their
places. They touched their instruments; a faint, languorous measure
throbbed through the rosy air.
The stage was set! What was to be the play?
Now about the tables passed other dusky-haired maids, fair bosoms
bare, their scanty kirtles looped high, pouring out the wines for the
feasters.
My eyes sought O'Keefe. Whatever it had been that Marakinoff had
said, clearly it now filled his mind--even to the exclusion of the
wondrous woman beside him.
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