Титан

F. A. Cowperwood, Guardian

           Thoughtheyturnedintothehedgegateanddrovetothewestentrance,whichwasatonesideofthehouse,therewasnocessationofthegame,notevenaglancefromBerenice,sobusywasshe.

           Hewasmerelyhermother’sfriendtoher.Cowperwoodnoted,withsingularvividnessoffeeling,thatthelinesofhermovementsthefleeting,momentarypositionssheassumedwerefullofawondrousnaturalcharm.HewantedtosaysotoMrs.Carter,butrestrainedhimself.

           "It’sabriskgame,"hecommented,withapleasedglance."Youplay,doyou?"

           "Oh,Idid.Idon’tmuchanymore.SometimesItryasetwithRolfeorBevy;buttheybothbeatmesobadly."

           "Bevy?WhoisBevy?"

           "Oh,that’sshortofBerenice.It’swhatRolfecalledherwhenhewasababy."

           "Bevy!Ithinkthatrathernice."

           "Ialwayslikeit,too.Somehowitseemstosuither,andyetIdon’tknowwhy."

           BeforedinnerBerenicemadeherappearance,freshenedbyabathandcladinalightsummerdressthatappearedtoCowperwoodtobeallflounces,andthemoregracefulinitslinesfortheproblematicabsenceofacorset.Herfaceandhands,howeverafacethin,long,andsweetlyhollow,andhandsthatwereslimandsinewygrippedandheldhisfancy.HewasremindedintheleastdegreeofStephanie;butthisgirl’schinwasfirmerandmoredelicately,thoughmoreaggressively,rounded.

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