Department of Death [antikvár]

f / Death Dances SlowlyLoftus sat at a corner table in the great ballroom, wearing his party smile, glad that for a few minutes he was alone. Nearly everyone was dancing, and the floor was packed. Subdued lights made the colours of the women's dresses soft, made creamy-white shoulders gleam seductively, gave the black and white clothes of the men a touch of distinction. The music was slow, mournful, rhythmic; the band, on a dais on the far side of the room from Loftus, kept perfect time.At a few tables one or two people sat like Loftus, with set smiles on their facesbored. At the great centre table, close to the dance-floor, two men and a woman were talk-ing animatedly. The woman kept leaning forward, tanta-lizing Loftus whenever her lovely, pale face Was hidden by a huge bowl of carnations. There was never time to study her. But he could see her glossy dark hair and the single white camellia in it.It was warmtoo warm for comfort.Footmen in pale-blue livery stood about, erect, waiting to dart forward at the slightest provocation.Loftus sensed that someone was approaching from be-hind, but didn't look round. The woman with black hair fascinated Mm, and she was now in full view. Her dark eyes sparkled with animation as she shook her head in vigorous disagreement with a white-haired, white-bearded patriarch, a diplomát of great renown."Enjoying yourself, Bili?" A man spoke at Loftus's side.Loftus glanced round with a grin. "No! Halló, Gordon! Sit down a minute and teli me everything."