lolita - starrison

2

    A moment elapsed, and the faint sound of heels clicking across a marble floor reached the ears of George Harrison.  With great enthusiasm the door swung suddenly open, and a women of regular size and stature, taille moyenne, stood before him. She wore a lavish red dress, gathered at the waist; which, in truth, was closer to a set of drapes than a garment, but it was no matter: it was a fine display of her wealth, and that was clearly her reason for wearing it. Her face was southern; she was certainly a prominent member of the London upper class. Her hair, like her dress, was also red. Her face was beautiful but audacious, and set with a pair of bright and glimmering eyes. Her lips were painted bright red- the smile they bore brighter.
"Bonjour!" She said, with a terrible accent. George in turn drew a smile from him closed lips, but only for a quick moment did he flash his teeth. He found her comment painfully obnoxious. "Welcome, Mr. Harrison," she said, "Please, come in." Stepping back from the door she opened it wider still, allowing him to enter.
It was a tall and narrow house: but within it made great space; the ceilings were high and the rooms were deep and wide.
    It was extremely lavish, every last touch: from the furniture upholstery to the drapes and the tables to accent them, from the piano to the paintings and the windows and those large, beautiful chandeliers and fine things in fine leather cases. She spoke endlessly of the different pieces, of the different parties and people of whom he did not know about nor did care about. He observed his surroundings in his typical prudent manner, mentally noting each table and tapestry, and vainly trying to map the hallways and stairways that wound all through the house. He walked silently in the company of incessant and annoying chatter, keeping a quiet composure before his hostess, to him an imbecile- but still a rich imbecile in the survey of London. It mattered not what you knew, living in London - it was whom you knew that mattered. The things that determined one's importance were the novelty of party, people, and presentation with which one was equipped. It was ridiculous.
Thinking just then about leaving, how easy it would be: taking the next train out of town, and going back to some place up north-  Lancaster or Manchester- Ms. Starkley lead him to a new room, where a boy, no older than 16, stood musing through a book, his back to them.

A/N: hi everyone!!! i think I'm back ? ? let me know how u liked this little chapter! New stuff soon :)