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Twoflower thought charitably, had probably been drinking too much. For years.
On the other hand, it was certainly a fascinating building. Its builders had been obsessed with the number eight. Twoflower looked at him sternly. "What things?"
The demon coughed nervously (demons do not breathe, however, every intelligent being, whether it breathes or not, coughs nervously at some time in this was one of them as far as the demon was concerned). "Oh, things," it said wretchedly. "Evil things. Things The floor was a continuous mosaic of eight-sided tiles, the corridor walls and ceilings were angled to give the corridors eight sides if the walls and ceilings were counted and, in those places where part of the masonry had fallen in Twoflower noticed that even the stones themselves had eight sides."I don't like it," said the picture imp, from his box around Twoflower's neck."Why not?" inquired Twoflower."It's weird.""But you're a demon. Demons can't call things weird. I mean, what's weird to a demon?""Oh, you know," said the demon cautiously, glancing around nervously and shifting from claw to claw. "Things. Stuff."