Her face is again turning towards him. It stops too soon; yet his eye
feeds upon the outline of a cheek not too full, yet promising of beauty,
like hope of Paradise.
She turns her head, she throws around a glance, and two streams of
liquid light pour from her hazel eyes on his. It was a rapid, graceful
movement, unstudied as the motion of a fawn, and was in a moment
withdrawn, yet was it long enough to stamp upon his memory a memorable
countenance. Her face was quite oval, her nose delicately aquiline, and
her high pure forehead like a Parian dome. The clear blood coursed under
her transparent cheek, and increased the brilliancy of her dazzling
eyes. His never left her. There was an expression of decision about her
small mouth, an air of almost mockery in her curling lip, which, though
in themselves wildly fascinating, strangely contrasted with all
the beaming light and beneficent lustre of the upper part of her
countenance. There was something, too, in the graceful but rather
decided air with which she moved, that seemed to betoken her
self-consciousness of her beauty or her rank; perhaps it might be her
wit; for the Duke observed that while she scarcely smiled, and conversed
with lips hardly parted, her companion, with whom she was evidently
intimate, was almost constantly convulsed with laughter, although, as he
never spoke, it was clearly not at his own jokes.
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