Acid dread burned up Ivo's throat as Kuroda ushered in the new arrivals towards the centre of the livingroom. Someone pulled the coffee table towards one of the walls, so that all the street rats could sit on the floor while the guests fanned through the sofas around them, looking down at them with expectant faces and greedy eyes.
Some of the guests stuck to the sidelines in groups, shaking their heads in disapproval, and talking among themselves.
Ivo was standing next to two such men, who reached out for a salmon canapé while talking quietly about Kuroda's tastes:
"You know what he's like," the one closest to Ivo said, a tall, dark man, with a head of close cropped curls. "Likes to play with his food."
His friend, a shorter, pale man nodded into his glass. "It's unsavoury. Base," he sighed, affecting distress. "I really don't see the appeal. But what can you do?"
