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The Flirt by Booth Tarkington
page 9 of 303 (02%)
was the shorter by a head, rounder everywhere and not so slender;
but no dumpling: she was exquisitely made. There was a softness
about her: something of velvet, nothing of mush. She diffused with
her entrance a radiance of gayety and of gentleness; sunlight ran
with her. She seemed the incarnation of a caressing smile.

She was point-device. Her close, white skirt hung from a plainly
embroidered white waist to a silken instep; and from the crown of
her charming head to the tall heels of her graceful white suede
slippers, heels of a sweeter curve than the waist of a violin, she
was as modern and lovely as this dingy old house was belated and
hideous.

Mr. Valentine Corliss spared the fraction of a second for another
glance at the rose in the waste-basket.

The girl saw him before she reached the table, gave a little gasp
of surprise, and halted with one hand carried prettily to her
breast.

"Oh!" she said impulsively; "I _beg_ your pardon. I didn't know
there was---- I was looking for a book I thought I----"

She stopped, whelmed with a breath-taking shyness, her eyes, after
one quick but condensed encounter with those of Mr. Corliss,
falling beneath exquisite lashes. Her voice was one to stir all
men: it needs not many words for a supremely beautiful
"speaking-voice" to be recognized for what it is; and this girl's
was like herself, hauntingly lovely. The intelligent young man
immediately realized that no one who heard it could ever forget
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