Free Garden of Shadows by V. C. Andrews Page B

giant, Gulliver in Lilliput, the land of the tiny people. Every gesture, every move I made seemed exaggerated. There wasn't a woman I didn't look down on, and almost all the men were shorter than I was.
I must say the crowd was extraordinarily gay. Whatever inhibitions they possessed were
immediately dropped as they moved from the punch bowls to the trays of food. The sound of chatter and laughter grew with every passing moment. By the time Malcolm thought it best we begin to circulate among our guests, the foyer roared with laughter and loud conversation. I had never been at such a gathering of exhilarated people.
My first reaction was to feel happy about it; it looked like my reception was off to a wonderful start, but as I began to circulate amongst the guests, my exuberant feelings fizzled, for I felt a chill in the air between me and these gay, lighthearted, and surprisingly whimsical people.
The women were drawn into small groups, some of them smoking cigarettes held in long ivory cigarette holders. All of them, I thought, looked very sophisticated and worldly. Whenever I joined a group of them, however, they ended their line of
conversation and looked at me as though I were an intruder. They made me feel like an uninvited guest at my own party.
They asked how I liked living in Virginia, and especially, how I liked living in Foxworth Hall. I tried to give them intelligent answers, but most of them seemed impatient with my responses, as though they didn't really care about my opinion, or as though they didn't really expect me to make such an elaborate response.
Almost immediately after I finished speaking, they began to talk about the latest fashions. I had no idea what some of the things they were referring to were.
"Can you see yourself in one of those middy blouses?" Tamara Livingston asked me. Her husband owned and operated the biggest lumber mill in Charlottesville.
"I--I'm not sure what they are," I said.
The group stared at me and then they carried on as though I weren't standing there. As soon as I walked away, there were peals of laughter.
These women were so silly, I thought. All they talked about was clothing styles or ways to redecorate their homes. None of them said anything about politics or business and in none of my conversations did I hear mention of a book. As the reception went on, they looked sillier and sillier to me, laughing and giggling, flirting with their long eyelashes, their shoulders and hands.
I expected Malcolm would become outraged at the loss of decorum as time passed, but whenever I looked for him, he was standing among a group of these women, laughing, permitting them to put their hands on him, letting them rub up against him, petting him rather suggestively.
I was shocked. These were the kind of women he despised--vapid, frilly types without an ounce of self- respect. But there he was, rushing to bring a glass of punch to this one or that one or feeding a petit four to a woman who let him press the small cake through her lips. One even licked the crumbs off the tips of his fingers.
When I heard Amanda Biddens, the wife of one of Malcolm's business associates say, "I simply must see your library, Malcolm. I want to see where you sit and dream up all those schemes to make millions," I was appalled to see him take her arm and lead her through the heavy double doors. I felt as if I'd been publicly _ slapped in the face. My cheeks stung and tears sprang to my eyes. It took all of my strength not to follow them, but to remain dignified and in control, wandering about the party, giving the servants orders from time to time, eating and drinking very little myself. No one sought me out for any prolonged conversation. Some of the men asked me questions about my father's business, but when I began to give them detailed answers, they seemed bored.
Eventually, I began to hear things being said about me. Those in conversation didn't realize I was within earshot or simply didn't care.
One woman asked