The comparisons upon which she could draw were few and confusingly new, mixed with reality and the loose artistic conceptions of heroes in fiction. She was a small blonde, not handsome, but with a flair for fashion demonstrated by her elegant chemise gown in the very latest Canterbury muslin, with its low décolletage barely concealed under a fine lawn handkerchief set about her shoulders, and decorated with a mauve satin sash at the waist. You may perceive harmony, proportion, rhythm, intensely. "By all means," returned Wood; "don't delay an instant. ’ ‘Comment? You wish to murder me?’ ‘No, I wish to beat you,’ he retorted. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. That won’t involve references, as a bank account would—and all that sort of thing. Wood, furiously.
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