She was a lovely girl, attired in deep mourning, and having an expression of profound sorrow on her charming features. ‘Why do you think I told you about the portrait? I’d not seen it, of course, but I’d seen Miss Mary just before she got married, which is when it was painted. It was a sovereign easily earned. He had looked at it before without comprehension. She became aware of the modelling of his ear, of the muscles of his neck and the textures of the hair that came off his brow, the soft minute curve of eyelid that she could just see beyond his brow; she perceived all these familiar objects as though they were acutely beautiful things. “She has lost something,” he declared, “something which brought the men in crowds around the stage at the ‘Ambassador’s. We met dissecting dogfish.
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