The house was full of eyes.
Not in the metaphorical sense; these were quite literal, living things, and they blinked out from beneath wallpaper-patterned eyelids at disconcerting intervals. Languid eyes, watchful eyes, frightened eyes, angry eyes... eyes of every conceivable color and shape, and always where one least expected them. One's bathroom mirror might suddenly sprout a pair in the middle of one's morning shave, and there was no doing anything about it. There was no such thing as privacy on the Amancoeur estate, but Dr. Black had learned not much to mind. He simply stepped out of their line of sight and, usually, no more popped