There was often a
little colour in her face, though never much, and it was faint, yet
very fresh, like the tint within certain delicate shells; her lips were
of the same hue, but stronger and brighter, and they were very well
shaped and generally closed, like her father's. But her eyes were not
like his, and the lids and lashes shaded them in such a way that it was
hard to guess their colour, and they had an inscrutable, reserved look
that was hard to meet for many seconds. Zorzi believed that they were
grey, but when he saw them in his dreams they were violet; and one day
she opened them wide for an instant, at something old Beroviero said to
her, and then Zorzi fancied that they were like sapphires, but before he
could be sure, the lids and lashes shaded them again, and he only knew
that they were there, and longed to see them, for her father had spoken
of her marriage, and she had not answered a single word.
When they were alone together for a moment, while the old man was
searching for more materials in the next room, she spoke to Zorzi.
"My father did not mean you to hear that," she said.
"Nevertheless, I heard," answered Zorzi, pushing a small piece of beech
wood into the fire through a narrow slit on one side of the brick
furnace.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25