The book flew across the room, pages flapping wildly, in what can only be described as an albatross in flight. Sadly, it landed in much the same way an albatross lands. With a *whump* followed by a *thump* as it hit the wall then the ground.
“Roger!” Her voice yelled out from behind the couch that she was currently using as cover.
“Miriam, I will not stand for this… this defiant behavior!” The sound of his foot stomping on the ground echoed in the study.
“Roger. My love.” She peeked out hesitantly from the cushioned concealment. “I was only saying that you might be. That is all.” The sequins on her headband reflected the flickering light from the candles in the room.
“Dare you, I say.” He turned, the tails on his jacket flaring, and walked toward the fireplace. “Such filth.” He rested his arm on the mantle and turned his head back toward her. “And coming from my own wife. My wife!” He let out a *hrmph* as he turned his back on her and stared at the large painting of his grandfather that loomed over him. “What would grandpapa Robert think? Imagine!”
“Roger, I think we should see someone.” She finally stood, the red velvet dress straightening itself out.
“Miriam. I am not addicted.” He lowered his head and shook it in disbelief.
“Roger, I think you might be.” She hesitantly walked over toward him, her gloved arm outstretched toward him.
He spun on his heels and stared hard at her, puffing his chest out. “And why, pray tell, do you think that?”
“Well, to start…” She stepped closer to him. “You built this study and started dressing in tails.”
He shook his head dismissively, “And what is wrong with building a study and wanting to dress nicely.”
She put her hand on his cheek. “Nothing.” And then she whispered, “Except, that isn’t your grandpapa and this isn’t Downton, this is our basement in Philadelphia.”
Filed under: Flash Fiction Tagged: TWW
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