Sucks books

Against the western flame appeared a figure carrying a basket. Mark
Brendon, with thoughts on the evening rise of the trout, lifted his
face at a light footfall. Whereupon there passed by him the fairest
woman he had ever known, and such sudden beauty startled the man and
sent his own thoughts flying. It was as though from the desolate
waste there had sprung a magical and exotic flower; or that the
sunset lights, now deepening on fern and stone, had burned together
and became incarnate in this lovely girl. She was slim and not very
tall. She wore no hat and the auburn of her hair, piled high above
her forehead, tangled the warm sunset beams and burned like a halo
round her head. The colour was glorious, that rare but perfect
reflection of the richest hues that autumn brings to the beech and
the bracken. And she had blue eyes--blue as the gentian. Their size
impressed Brendon.
He had only known one woman with really large eyes, and she was a
criminal. But this stranger's bright orbs seemed almost to dwarf her
face.


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