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SS-1, Chapter-3


 The middle aged woman was deep in conversation with the Colonel’s son, a smart young lieutenant himself.
The lady walked around the pillar to get a better look at this stranger, but her effort was to be in vain, for some of her friends barged in between and struck up conversation.
A couple of drinks, a dance or two, and few random conversations later, the lady had quite settled into the flow of the festivities. Despite the strain of the past fortnight, she surprised herself with the amount of enthusiasm she could muster. And so, the gaiety continued… and it would have, had she not noticed the hems of the silver gown, yet again.
This time, the lieutenant had disappeared, but the woman was in conversation with another man, his back to the dance floor. Her face was pale, but the dark brown of her hair and eyes, coupled with the sharp nose, and high cheek bones made it an attractive package. Then there was that hour glass frame, the generous bosom. The long slender fingers brushed his coat’s lapels, before resting on his shoulder. As the pitch began to rise, she swayed gracefully, matching her moves to that of her partner, the lawyer.
‘It’s only a dance’, she thought to herself.
But she was soon heard, telling anyone who struck up conversation with her, that Ms. X powdered face had been conquered by the ‘crow’s feet’, the pearls were a fake and despite it being the first time that the lady had seen her, she assured some of the more naïve guests, that the woman in question had put on a good ten pounds in weight!
A dance rolled into ‘few dances’. The lady now had a throbbing skull, and it wouldn’t be long before she’d have to pop the aspirin.
It was as the particular number reached a crescendo, that she thought she saw Ms. X slip something into the lawyer’s pocket.  Their eyes, with only each other to gaze at, conveyed a million unspoken words.
The throbbing in the lady’s head was now a frank, incessant pounding.
Soon after the lawyer, was by his lady’s side. And seeing as she was quite unwell, they quietly retreated home.
Hell hath no fury, they say, as a woman scorned!

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