Island House
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The beat of the drum. A cool castanet and the scent of an orchid perfuming the room… Lazy days and a fan twirling slowly overhead. A bamboo grove casts shadows across the walls and a balmy breeze kicks up. “Another gin Rickey,” whispers Charles. “But, of course,” replies Gloria, her Red Velvet lacquered nails clacking on the console. And upon the sofa, Island House.
