Having delivered his shocking confession, Lord Throckmottle fell silent. Pulling on his meerschaum, Sir Antony Londerbaugh gazed up at the abashed aristocrat quizzically, appalled to think that his old school chum could have got up to such antics while off on the Continent.
Bertie fforbes-Hamilton, meanwhile, resolved to find the address of this Pensione Regina Vittoria post haste; it certainly sounded better fun than the dull hotel of his last stay in Firenze. "Moroccan houseboys!" he marveled to himself, "Who would have dreamt they could think of such bully things to do with an ear trumpet?"
"Moroccan houseboys" Are there any two more beautiful words in the English tongue?
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