THIRTY ONE
As we descended the stairway, a rather plump woman approached George with a knowing smile. He bent close and murmured something into her ear, causing her to cast a brief, inquisitive glance in my direction. A small purse of coins passed from his hand to hers, and with that silent exchange, she curtsied and withdrew, her bracelets jingling faintly as she vanished into the crowd. The place was alive with a kind of unholy merriment — a whirl of motion, laughter, and scandal. Half-clad dancers twirled amidst the smoke and shadows, their limbs glistening beneath the wavering candlelight. Women of ill repute lounged in the corners, their painted faces lit by the ruby glow of lanterns, while men, already undone by drink, clutched their glasses and called out crude jests that made my cheeks burn.
- Writer
