The music changed again, and was now even slower. Lots of people left the floor, and those who remained drifted together.
It was a strange sight, like something from the natural world; monkeys, perhaps, or birds.
The women all put their arms around the men’s necks, and the men put their arms around the women’s waists.
They swayed from side to side, shuffling their feet awkwardly, either looking into one another’s faces,
or else resting their heads on each other’s shoulders. It was some sort of mating ritual, clearly.
But then, might it not be quite pleasurable, to sway in time to slow music, pressed close against someone rather wonderful?
I looked at them all again, the various sizes and shapes and permutations of them.
And there, in the middle, was Raymond, dancing with Laura. He was speaking into her ear, close enough to be able to smell her perfume.
She was laughing. The drink I’d bought him was going to go to waste.
I picked it up and drank it down, the whole pint, acrid and bitter tasting. I stood up and put on my jerkin.
I’d visit the Powder Room one more time, and then I would get the train back into town. The party, it seemed, was over.
Monday, Monday. Things didn’t feel right; I hadn’t been able to relax yesterday, hadn’t been able to settle to anything.
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