A glance in the
clear light satisfied us that the superhuman beauty we almost
worshipped, and the splendor that seemed too lavish to be real, were
no mere glamor of lamplight or moonlight, but surpassed in the reality
all that our stunted, sceptical, Western imaginations, even stimulated
as they were, had dared to anticipate.
I might attempt to describe her. I might tell you that her every limb
and every feature seemed perfect in its form and its harmony with the
others; that her complexion was a fresh, delicate bloom, without spot
or blemish; that the innumerable braids of her long, black hair were
ravishingly glossy and soft; that her great, dark eyes were
bewilderingly bright and wise, and expressive of everything enchanting
and good that eyes can express; that her smile,--but no! her smile was
an expression of her individuality too subtle for words to catch; and
without any power of revealing this individuality, this all that
distinguished her from merely mortal woman and made her angelic, where
is the use of attempting to describe her? Of her garments, by a
recurrence to Lady Mary Wortley Montagu for the names of them, I could
give you a description, from the golden-flowered, diamond-studded
kerchief wreathed in her hair, to the yellow Cinderella slippers that
covered her fairy feet.
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