She has the warm russet complexion that suits her heavy
bronze hair, and there is a glow beneath the satin of her neck
and arms. And she is fragrant--I recognise it now--of hyacinths.
The world can hold nothing more alluring to the senses of man.
My fingers that held the turquoise trembled as they chanced to
touch her--but she was all unconcerned. Nay, further--she gazed
into the mirror--
"It makes me look so white--oh, there was a girl at Bude who had
a gold locket--and it lay upon her bones--you could count them.
I am glad I have no bones. I am quite soft--feel."
She clasped my fingers and pressed their tips into the firm young
flesh below her throat.
"Yes," said I, with some huskiness in my voice, "your turquoise
can sleep there very pleasantly. See, I will kiss it to bring
you good luck."
She cooed with pleasure. "I don't think any one kissed the locket
of the girl at Bude. She was too thin. And too old; she must
have been thirty! Now," she added, lifting up the locket, "you
will kiss the place, too, where it is to lie.
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