Leonora had one of her headaches and we were waiting
for Florence and Edward to come from their baths. You have no
idea how beautiful Nancy looked that morning.
We were talking about the desirability of taking tickets in
lotteries--of the moral side of it, I mean. She was all in white, and
so tall and fragile; and she had only just put her hair up, so that
the carriage of her neck had that charming touch of youth and of
unfamiliarity. Over her throat there played the reflection from a
little pool of water, left by a thunderstorm of the night before, and
all the rest of her features were in the diffused and luminous
shade of her white parasol. Her dark hair just showed beneath her
broad, white hat of pierced, chip straw; her throat was very long
and leaned forward, and her eyebrows, arching a little as she
laughed at some old-fashionedness in my phraseology, had
abandoned their tense line. And there was a little colour in her
cheeks and light in her deep blue eyes. And to think that that vivid
white thing, that saintly and swanlike being--to think that. . . Why,
she was like the sail of a ship, so white and so definite in her
movements. And to think that she will never .
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