Indeed, I'm afeared he's too good to be long for this
world; but still, if the Lord was to take him, wouldn't it be a proof
that he had a great regard for him!"
Grace Davoren was flushed and excited with delight. She was about
eighteen, rather tall for her age, but roundly and exquisitely moulded;
her glossy ringlets, as they danced about her cheeks and shoulders, were
black as ebony; but she was no brunette; for her skin was milk white,
and that portion of her bosom, which was uncovered by the simple nature
of her dress, threw back a polished light like ivory; her figure was
perfection, and her white legs were a finer specimen of symmetry
than ever supported the body of the _Venus de Medicis_. This was all
excellent; but it was the sparkling lustre of her eyes, and the radiance
of her whole countenance, that attracted the beholder. If there was
anything to be found fault with, it was in the spirit, not in the
physical perfection, of her beauty. There was, for instance, too much
warmth of coloring and of constitution visible in her whole exquisite
person; and sometimes her glances, would puzzle you to determine whether
they were those of innocence or of challenge.
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