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The One Woman by Thomas Dixon
page 13 of 351 (03%)
the card she gave him, his mind aglow with the consciousness of
her remarkable beauty, the famous Kentucky type, and yet a distinct
variation.

Her figure was full and magnificent in the ripe glory of youth, a
delicate face, the blonde's colour, thick, waving auburn hair that
seemed brown till the light blazed through its deep red tints,
violet-blue eyes, cordial and smiling, at once mysterious, magic,
friendly, gravely candid. Her skin was smooth as a babe's, with the
delicate creamy satin of the blonde flashing the scarlet tints of
every emotion. Her lips were cherry-red, and as she listened they
half parted with a lazy suggestion of tenderness and love; while
the face was one of refined mentality, as unconscious as a child's
of its splendid beauty.

Her gait was proud and careless, telling of perfect health and
stores of untouched vital powers, a movement of the body at once
strong, luxurious, insolently languid, rhythmic and full of dumb
music. It was when she moved that she expressed the consciousness
of power, a gleam of cruelty, a challenge that was to man an added
charm.

"What a woman!" he exclaimed aloud, as he drew on his coat. "The
kind of a woman who enraptures the senses, drugs the brain and
conscience of the man who responds to her call--the woman about
whom men have never been able to compromise, but have always killed
one another!"

His wife opened the door for him in silence.

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