Feeling very nervous as she stood backstage with the others, Diana Watson had so many butterflies in her stomach by then that she was deathly afraid that she might throw up at any moment.
Uncomfortably squeezed into her very best dress – one that she had not worn for many years, since before a sedentary life added more than a few extra pounds to her once slender figure – Diana had to work hard to resist the impulse to run a restive hand through the hair she’d had professionally coiffed at the beauty parlor earlier that day. She had gone to a great deal of trouble and expense to look her absolute best for this event and didn’t want to ruin it, though she was quite sure the effect had long since been spoiled by her sweating and nervous fidgeting as she awaited her turn.
Cringing at the rolling rumble of the crowd, the rhythmic chant of the auctioneer and the gunshot-like bangs of the gavel, Diana resisted the urge to take another peek through the curtains as she knew that it would only put her even more on edge.