Adonie wore black pants which were as always pushed into her boots and a white shirt whose long loose sleeves gathered softly at her wrists and whose collar rose to accent nicely her black vest. The vest was not the worn charcoal corduroy blotched with numerous lumpy pockets which she sometimes wore on the scaffolding or evenings bent over her charts at the table. This was one I had never seen before.
Her hair gleamed; coppery lights struck from its darkness as she danced. Adonie danced.