The lip chair

The Sanxay house is in a state of elegant decay.  The walls are fissured in places, drafts creep under doors, tiles wobble under your feet, taps drip however tight you turn them and buckets catch the rain.  The courtyard leads to the doctor's surgery where  African masks line the walls and ceramic apothecary pots sit on the shelves. In the space behind David stores his vats of rotting prunes awaiting distilation, bicycles and fishing tackle.
When Manon was still alive we would catch glimpses of her asleep in an invalid's chair in the small sitting room and I'd be struck by the thought that she was in the doctor's waiting room but with only one thing to wait for.  It was a morbid thought but this house is far from melancholy.  
The lip chair languishes in a forgotten bathroom between two floors.  It is, itself, somewhat forgotten; délabrée and shunted away on the side lines, but continues to smile somewhat lasiviously at you as you sit on the loo.