Not every Ancient Greek sculpture embodied harmony as Chateaubriand had claimed. The expressions on Laocoön and his sons' faces seemed to transcend time, conveying despair and pain.
As Bertin busied herself around Georgiana, she thought to herself that the Trojans truly should not have opened their gates and let the wooden horse in.
Who knew what Pomona had been thinking at the time, placing such a sculpture at the entrance to her London apartment.
"All done," Bertin announced. "Take a look."
Two seamstresses wheeled over a huge mirror, fitted with casters underneath.
A thought flashed through her mind: the Mirror of Erised's little legs seemed to be lion's legs.
Then she saw herself in the mirror.
"Well?" Bertin asked Georgiana excitedly.
You look like a macaw!
Georgiana thought.
Even after two centuries, girls still had little resistance to puffed skirts. Although Bertin had restrained herself somewhat, the skirt was not quite so exaggerated, and the waist did not need to be cinched tight by a corset.
The skirt looked like flower petals. If she turned too sharply, she would sweep the ashtray right off the table.
"You don't like it?" Bertin asked.
Oh, damn it, of course I don't like it!
Georgiana roared inwardly.
But she was not wearing this outfit for herself.
She was like a wrapped Christmas present, waiting for someone to unwrap her.
"Hortense's wedding gown was white," Georgiana said weakly, recalling the wedding-dress business she had once planned.
"You aren't wearing a wedding gown," Bertin said mercilessly, tightening her sash and making the bow at her back even larger.
"I can't breathe," Georgiana protested.
"It will be untied soon enough. There's no ball tonight." Bertin inspected Georgiana. "You still need jewelry."
No ball, yet she still had to wear jewelry...
Fury filled her belly. While Bertin