A Connoisseur's Evening Repose

I scaled the peaks of the velvet armchair this evening, determined that a well-travelled gentleman must inspect the salon's literary reserves before slumber. Resting against the deep button-tufted upholstery was a discarded brass bookmark fashioned like an antique feather. Naturally, one cannot simply read without a proper lectern! I levered the slender brass quill against a heavy seam to keep an open volume propped upright, crossing my legs with supreme refinement. Just as I prepared to relish a thrilling chapter, the velvet pile yielded beneath my heel, sending the bookmark tipping gently down with a soft, aristocratic chime against the brass upholstery tacks. I simply bowed to the page, convinced that true high drama requires no script at all.