She looked so beautiful with her golden hair coiled above her head. It
was the most wonderful gold that he had ever seen. He could only, in his
excitement, think of marmalade and that was a sticky comparison. "The Lady
with the Marmalade Hair"--how monstrous! but that did convey the colour.
Her eyes seemed darker now than they had been before and her cheeks whiter.
The curve of her neck was so wonderful that it hurt him physically. He
wanted so terribly to kiss her just beneath her ear. He saw how he would do
it, and that he would have to move away some of the shiny hair that strayed
like sunlight across the white skin.
She did not seem to him quite so tiny when she smiled; it was exactly as
water ripples when the sun suddenly bursts dark clouds. He had a thousand
comparisons for her, and then sometimes she would be, as it were, caught up
into a cloud and he would only see a general radiance and be blinded by the
light.
He wished very much that he could think of something else--something other
than marmalade--that had that quality of gold. He often imagined what it
would be like when she let it all down--like a forest of autumn trees--no,
that spoke of decay--like the sunlight on sand towards evening--like the
fires of Walhalla in the last act of Gotterdaemmerung--like the lights of
some harbour seen from the farther shore--like clouds that are ready to
burst with evening sunlight.
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