I approached the mahogany-bed, where the Grandmother laid, sleeping.
"Wake up, old hag."
Her eyes were opened, and they moved toward my voice. Toward my blonde, youthful, strong presence.
"Do you recognize me, old hag?"
Yes, she recognized me. I saw it in her eyes.
I took a good grip of her white hair, and I saw terror in those watery eyes. Sweet, delicious terror.
"Now I am strong, Olivia Foxworth, and you are weak. What do you think about that!"
She couldn´t speak, of course, or fight back. With my free hand, I started to tear her simple ugly night-wear , to expose her body. I was excited, by violence, by revenge.
"You filthy young slut!"
I turned my head and saw a woman standing at the door.
"Take your filthy hands away from her!"
She was dressed in long bustled dress of red satin. Angelic, unpolluted. Even her shoes were red.
I hated red colour, I had always hated it. And that 19th century style... Why she wasn´t downstairs, dancing with others?
"Do you hear me! Take your filthy hands away from that woman, and do it now!"
My grip slipped and grandmother´s head hit to the pillows.
"You don´t know what she has done," I tried, but in vain.
"I don´t know nor I care," the insufferable woman said. "You disgust me."
She went to ring the bell - such which was used to alarm servants - and I understood that she would call Bart, my mother, everyone. They would not let me punish me grandmother, oh no, because she was too old, frail, ill...
I started to hit the old woman with my bare hands, screaming.
The red-dressed woman ran to me, and threw me against the antique drawer . Painfully. Then she hit me against my face - hard - and I fell to the rose-patterned carpet.
That was the tableaux when Bart and others came in.