He perceived a
salient hue of blue and a glitter of brass about a central figure of
dazzling white and silver, and a ragged wake of black, bobbing
figures.
Two ponderous policemen were conducting between them a woman dressed
as if for the stage, in a short, white, satiny skirt reaching to the
knees, pink stockings, and a sort of sleeveless bodice bright with
relucent, armour-like scales. Upon her curly, light hair was perched,
at a rollicking angle, a shining tin helmet. The costume was to be
instantly recognized as one of those amazing conceptions to which
competition has harried the inventors of the spectacular ballet. One
of the officers bore a long cloak upon his arm, which, doubtless, had
been intended to veil the I candid attractions of their effulgent
prisoner, but, for some reason, it had not been called into use, to
the vociferous delight of the tail of the procession.
Compelled by a sudden and vigorous movement of the woman, the parade
halted before the window by which Lorison stood. He saw that she was
young, and, at the first glance, was deceived by a sophistical
prettiness of her face, which waned before a more judicious scrutiny.
Her look was bold and reckless, and upon her countenance, where yet
the contours of youth survived, were the finger-marks of old age's
credentialed courier, Late Hours.
Pages:
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291