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. Would you keep an eye on things here and take charge if she calls us in
before I get back?"
He smiled.
"If one of your relatives strolls by, should I introduce myself as a
lord of Chaos?"
"I thought you were also a lord of deception."
"Of course," he said, and he clapped his hands and vanished.
"I'll hurry," I said.
"Cheerio," came his voice, from somewhere.
I hurried off up the hall. It was a little pilgrimage, I suppose-one
that I had not made in a long while. On the brink of an enterprise such as
this, it seemed somehow appropriate.
When I reached the door, I stood outside it for a moment, my eyes
closed, visualizing the interior as last I had seen it. It was my father's
apartment. I had wandered through it on many occasions, trying to judge from
the furnishings, the layout, his bookshelves, and his curious collections
something more than I already knew about the man. There was always some
little thing that caught my attention, that answered a question or raised a
new one-an inscription on the flyleaf of a book or a note in a margin, a
silver hairbrush bearing the wrong set of initials, a daguerreotype of an
attractive brunette signed "To Carl, Love, Carolyn," a snapshot of my father
shaking hands with General MacArthur. . . .
I unlocked the door and pushed it open.
I did not move for several seconds, however, as a light glowed inside
the place
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