body.

"Who would have thought it!" whispered Lewis. "To do something well at a
range of two thousand years! That's more than art; it's genius."

"It's not genius," whispered back Lady Derl; "it's just body. What's
more, I think I recognize the body."

"Well," said Lewis, "what if you do? Play the game."

"So I'm right, eh? Oh, I'll play the game, and hate her less into the
bargain."

So suddenly that it startled, came a crashing chord. The dancer quivered
from head to foot, became very still, as though she listened to a call,
and then swirled into the rhythm of the music. The watchers caught their
breath and held it. The new movement was alien to anything the marbled
halls of Greece are supposed to have seen; yet it held a haunting
reminder, as though classicism had suddenly given birth to youth.

The music swelled and mounted. So did the dance. Wave followed on
ripple, sea on wave, and on the sea the foaming, far-flung billow. Limb
after limb, the whole supple body of the blind dancer came into play;
yet there was no visible tension. Never dead, never hard, but limp,--as
limp as flowing, rushing water,--she whirled and swayed through all the
emotions until, at the highest pitch of the mounting music, she fell
prone, riven by a single, throbbing sob. Down came the curtain. The
music faded away in a long, descending sweep.

Men shouted hoarsely, unaware of what they were crying out, and women