The things we do!

She
wore her favorite long flowing outer sleeve, without the close fitting
inner one. It was slit to the shoulder, and gave entrancing glimpses
of her arms with every movement, leaving them almost bare when she
lifted her hands, which was often, for she was as full of gestures as
a Frenchwoman. Her bodice was cut low, both back and front, showing
her large perfectly molded throat and neck, like an alabaster pillar
of beauty and strength, and disclosing her bosom just to its shadowy
incurving, white and billowy as drifted snow. Her hair was thrown back
in an attempt at a coil, though, like her own rebellious nature, it
could not brook restraint, and persistently escaped in a hundred
little curls that fringed her face and lay upon the soft white nape of
her neck like fluffy shreds of sun-lit floss on new cut ivory.
With the mood that was upon her, I wonder Brandon maintained his
self-restraint even for a moment. He felt that his only hope lay in
silence, so he sat beside her and said nothing.


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