WildPhotographer221

 "Who," wondered Ian, as he casually perused the buzzing parlor room, "Shall be my prey…?" Over by the glowing pine tree swathed in frosty tinsel his godfather, John Woltman, was laughing with a group of men, and several old women with champagne glasses held daintily in their fingers were gossiping on the sofas.  Others stood here and there throughout the room, and even more through the archway in the grand hall.   Ian clicked his tongue – which he instantly regretted when he tasted the women's sweet perfume that permeated the air – and then suppressed a small cough.  "Hmmmmm…."