Sort of make you wonder, don’t they? Uptight provincial rococo. As someone commented, “Looks feminine, dainty and uncomfortable. No reclining chair. No TV. No pool table. No mounted deer head. No bear rung. No gun rack. No militaria. No truck in the driveway. Are you sure a single man lives here?†Of course the thrice-married, thrice-divorced Rush takes pains to have a woman on his arm, at least in public, even though the current companion, Kate Rogers, was having her nails done in West Palm Beach when Limbaugh was on vacation in Hawai’i, where he had his heart attack.
The photos somehow remind me of the passage in John Buchan’s Greenmantle where our man Hannay ends up in Stumm’s German castle, in his private apartment:
“We went up a staircase to a room at the end of a long corridor. Stumm locked the door behind him and laid the key on the table. That room took my breath away, it was so unexpected… It was very large, but low in the ceiling, and the walls were full of little recesses with statues in them. A thick grey carpet of velvet pile covered the floor, and the chairs were low and soft and upholstered like a lady's boudoir. A pleasant fire burned on the hearth and there was a flavour of scent in the air, something like incense or burnt sandalwood. A French clock on the mantelpiece told me that it was ten minutes past eight. Everywhere on little tables and in cabinets was a profusion of knickknacks, and there was some beautiful embroidery framed on screens. At first sight you would have said it was a woman's drawing-room.
“But it wasn't. I soon saw the difference. There had never been a woman's hand in that place. It was the room of a man who had a passion for frippery, who had a perverted taste for soft delicate things. It was the complement to his bluff brutality. I began to see the queer other side to my host, that evil side which gossip had spoken of as not unknown in the German army. The room seemed a horribly unwholesome place, and I was more than ever afraid of Stumm.
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