Emily: Supper #fiction

Emily groaned quietly, The supper table was just as chaotic as the great hall had been this morning.

Her father was quite plainly barmy — at this moment he seemed to think he was dining with an Indian rajah, her brother was eating with his fingers, surrounded by adoring dogs, and her mother was ignoring everything, alone at the foot of the table, concentrating on her food as though she were dining alone.

Emily decided she’d rather eat in silence than Bedlam, and picked up her plate and sat down next to her mother.

They ate together companionably. Emily noticed her mother never even blinked at the antics at the other end of the table, not even when her father jumped up on the table and began belting out a bawdy song at the top of his lungs, to the howling delight of the dogs.

Soon after that, her mother’s plate was clear. She laid her knife and fork neatly atop it. Emily decided she was also done, and did the same. Her mother rose and said, “Come upstairs with me, dear. I think we have much to discuss.”

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  1. Emily: After Supper #fiction #writing | Lizbeth's Garden

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