But such eyes! Round they were, rather than long. And yet they were not
round. Square they might have been, had they not been more round than
square. Such shape had they that they were as if blocked off in the
artist’s swift and sketchy way of establishing circles out of the sums
of angles. The long, dark lashes veiled them and perpetuated the
illusion of their darkness. Yet was there no surprise nor startlement in
them at first sight of her visitors. Dreamily incurious were they, yet
were they languidly certain of comprehension of what they beheld. Still
further, to awe those who so beheld, her eyes betrayed a complicated
totality of paradoxical alivenesses. Pain trembled its quivering anguish
perpetually impending. Sensitiveness moistly hinted of itself like a
spring rain-shower on the distant sea-horizon or a dew-fall of a
mountain morning. Pain—ever pain—resided in the midst of languorous
slumberousness. The fire of immeasurable courage threatened to glint
into the electric spark of action and fortitude. Deep slumber, like a
palpitant, tapestried background, seemed ever ready to obliterate all in
sleep. And over all, through all, permeating all, brooded ageless
wisdom. This was accentuated by cheeks slightly hollowed, hinting of
asceticism. Upon them was a flush, either hectic or of the paint-box.
When she stood up, she showed herself to be slender and fragile as a
fairy. Tiny were her bones, not too-generously flesh-covered; yet the
lines of her were not thin. Had either Henry or Francis registered his
impression aloud, he would have proclaimed her the roundest thin woman
he had ever seen.
The Sun Priest prostrated his aged frame till he lay stretched flat out
on the floor, his old forehead burrowing into the grass mat. The rest
remained upright, although Torres evidenced by a crumpling at the knees
that he would have followed the priest’s action had his companions shown
signs of accompanying him. As it was, his knees did partly crumple, but
straightened again and stiffened under the controlled example of Leoncia
and the Morgans.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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