American fiction -- 20th century; Manhattan (New York, N.Y.) -- Fiction; Women artists -- Fiction
She didn't smoke because in those days ladies were not supposed to
know the taste of cigarettes. There are minor drawbacks in every age.
She saw his long, nervous fingers with their suggestion of finesse, of
power, saw the oval face and the clear-cut features--his profile made
her dream of the profiles of decadent emperors of the Lower Empire;
saw that his nose and brow modulated in the Napoleonic way, a common
enough trait throughout the Midi of France; saw his sensual lips, and
simply loved the kindly glance of his heavily-lidded blue eyes; blue of
a penetrating, celestial intensity. His vitality was concentrated in
his eyes, which were always speculative, seldom tender. Ulick, thou art
a jewel! she murmured, and thereafter to herself named him Jewel. (As
had Easter, before her).
He saw, what he had with clairvoyance called an interesting girl. He
didn't say pretty or beautiful; sympathetic, would be a more truthful
ascription. His experienced glance roved over her face and figure. He
measured, as would an architect, the latent powers of strength and
resistance in her muscular conformation. Not a skinny bird, anyhow, he
said with a sigh of relief. He is undressing me now, she thought. If
he were, it was not in a salacious spirit. Voluptuary as he was, Ulick
didn't feel a spark of erotic emotion for his companion. His admiration
for her was sexually disinterested. She hasn't the pull of sex like
Easter, yet I don't know--she is not awakened.
"Sir critic, when you have made all the specifications, registered the
shortcomings, won't you please say something? I'm dying to hear about
myself. Milt has told me of your ambitions. I wonder, though, that you
should have left Paris for this noisy Tophet of a New York." It was his
turn to color. The damned girl seemed to know exactly the nature of the
stew simmering in his mental laboratory. But no young man of spirit
needs a second invitation to talk about himself, his ways, his days,
his mighty ambitions. He broke loose and at once she was swirled along
on the swift crest of his eloquence.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account