11-26-2020, 02:14 PM
(This post was last modified: 11-26-2020, 02:15 PM by Nesah Meijer.)
Did British people not understand the notion of a library? A place were people came to read books? In si-lence? Nesah had just entered the library, and stood close to the entrance, holding a book, and looking around confused and irritated. There was a group of older and younger ladies who stood whispering and pointing at other people talking. Then she caught sight of the object the women's frenzied chatter.
Oh for the love of...
She rolled her eyes. What was so special about him anyway? A painter with moderate fame, probably exaggerated by himself, and a decent purse. Not unappealing, but were better catches, surely. What was this ridiculous fuss about, and more importantly: why did it have to turn a quiet library into some rowdy club hall?
As she passed some of the ladies, she caught some of the conversation. An earl, was he? She didn't know exactly what the word meant, but she figured it referred to the aristocracy. It was a title they were after, then. That didn't surprise her. If women understood themselves as no more than ornaments, they wanted to be special ornaments at least, better than the others. Nesah looked around. Pretty ornaments they would be, she had to admit, with their gracious forms, accentuated by fashionable dresses, and well-cared-for skin. Pretty faces. But with heads full of air, that much was clear to her. Most men didn't care though. Sometimes Nesah wasn't sure which of the sexes she hated more.
Was the painter easy on the eyes? Nesah looked over at him. She hadn't noticed. But she was usually oblivious to these things. Whatever he was, the fuss about him annoyed her.
She found a spot as far away from the noise as possible and sat down, opening the book she had picked up from the 'hold' stack at the entrance. But her eyes caught another young lady, not as well dressed as the others, but with a gracious form and a prettier face. She seemed to back away from the others. Nesah wondered if she too was repulsed by the superficial scene and her eyes followed the girl with eager interest. And then the girl bumped into someone and a brawl seemed inevitable. Perhaps if she had been at home, Nesah would have stepped up and helped the girl. Perhaps. But she was a foreigner. She wasn't going to stick her neck out. Cultural differences and all that. And so instead, she closed her book and prepared herself to watch women fight, with voyeuristic eagerness.
Oh for the love of...
She rolled her eyes. What was so special about him anyway? A painter with moderate fame, probably exaggerated by himself, and a decent purse. Not unappealing, but were better catches, surely. What was this ridiculous fuss about, and more importantly: why did it have to turn a quiet library into some rowdy club hall?
As she passed some of the ladies, she caught some of the conversation. An earl, was he? She didn't know exactly what the word meant, but she figured it referred to the aristocracy. It was a title they were after, then. That didn't surprise her. If women understood themselves as no more than ornaments, they wanted to be special ornaments at least, better than the others. Nesah looked around. Pretty ornaments they would be, she had to admit, with their gracious forms, accentuated by fashionable dresses, and well-cared-for skin. Pretty faces. But with heads full of air, that much was clear to her. Most men didn't care though. Sometimes Nesah wasn't sure which of the sexes she hated more.
Was the painter easy on the eyes? Nesah looked over at him. She hadn't noticed. But she was usually oblivious to these things. Whatever he was, the fuss about him annoyed her.
She found a spot as far away from the noise as possible and sat down, opening the book she had picked up from the 'hold' stack at the entrance. But her eyes caught another young lady, not as well dressed as the others, but with a gracious form and a prettier face. She seemed to back away from the others. Nesah wondered if she too was repulsed by the superficial scene and her eyes followed the girl with eager interest. And then the girl bumped into someone and a brawl seemed inevitable. Perhaps if she had been at home, Nesah would have stepped up and helped the girl. Perhaps. But she was a foreigner. She wasn't going to stick her neck out. Cultural differences and all that. And so instead, she closed her book and prepared herself to watch women fight, with voyeuristic eagerness.
