Spas are supposed to be relaxing. You pad around in a regulation robe and too-big slippers. Everything is beautifully soft, crisply white, low lit. There are loungers for flopping and glasses of tea —pale yellow and herbal, not builder’s. Towels are everywhere.
It’s rehydrating, restful, rejuvenating. Music tinkles in the background; occasionally a cymbal resounds.
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