The fireplace and mantel were weathered but stately; the velvet upholstery of the club chairs had gone bald at the arms, but the cushions still held their shape. They had two lavatories to share between the four of them, and each of these tiled shrines of cleanliness included an enamel altar in the shape of a clawfoot tub. Adam’s first soaking had tinted the water so noticeably, he felt like a teabag.
