Pulsars in the NightMiller put away his phone and went back into the so-called drawing-room. He stood in the doorway and frowned. Drawing-room, he thought to himself, chuckling. Naming rooms in such a way confused him. There was nothing contained within which had anything to do with drawing of any kind. An open fireplace, the ivory white mantelpiece with its intricately carved columns on either side, supporting a shelf adorned with family photographs. Above it, a huge painting of a lake, made silver by a cold, winter sun, large, snow-topped mountains looming on all sides, and a small skiff by a boathouse, a figure preparing to cast-off. He studied it closely, wishing he knew more about this archaic art form before turning around to consider the furniture. Two large armchairs flanked the fi
