"I think it's just the horridest, beastliest thing I ever saw," she answered,
and turned away.
"More than you will be of that way of thinking, young woman.--Dick, there's a
sort of murderous, viperine suggestion in the poise of the head that I don't
understand," said Torpenhow.
That's trick-work," said Dick, chuckling with delight at being completely
understood. "I couldn't resist one little bit of sheer swagger. It's a French
trick, and you wouldn't understand; but it's got at by slewing round the head a
trifle, and a tiny, tiny foreshortening of one side of the face from the angle
of the chin to the top of the left ear. That, and deepening the shadow under
the lobe of the ear. It was flagrant trick-work; but, having the notion fixed,
I felt entitled to play with it,--Oh, you beauty!"
"Amen! She is a beauty. I can feel it."
"So will every man who has any sorrow of his own," said Dick, slapping his
thigh. "He shall see his trouble there, and, by the Lord Harry, just when he's
feeling properly sorry for himself he shall throw back his head and laugh,--as
she is laughing. I've put the life of my heart and the light of my eyes into
her, and I don't care what comes. . . . I'm tired,--awfully tired. I think I'll
get to sleep.
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