15
It was midday by the time Paix arrived at Spadros Manor. The ride there left him awed at the ever-increasing grandeur of the homes, the fineness of the roads, the ease in the faces of those they passed.
"Wait here," he told the driver, and went to the door.
The butler, a man in his fifties, answered the door. "Mrs. Spadros is at her dress-maker's, but should be home momentarily." He gestured for Paix to follow, and led him to a parlor close by. "You're not to sit in the Lady's presence," he said, then left.
Paix stood facing the room as the door shut behind him. The room ‒ this one room ‒ was twice the size of his parents' entire home. The walls, paneled white. The floor, gray tile. The furnishings, white, with cushions in pale blue. Fine paintings hung on the walls, fresh plants gr
