Yet the modesty of the suburban mansion brought strong doses of reality to his Augustan display, toning everything down to a mild soiree and not a very wild one. Domestic in more ways, like a diamond dissolving in hot water. But when the drinks have been downed, the music gets louder, the women dance looser, every word spoken has to be screamed, somehow the illusion, despite evidence, begins to sound plausible, even believable, degenerate, wild and the dance gains heat. Her breath in my mouth, the songs penetrating our moves and the party explodes.
Lord Malinov, Song of Songs