Turning from losing myself in the transforming fire
my eyes came upon Adonie
sitting back in a great high-backed chair of cushioned damask
the color of spun honey like the hair
of the woman with whom she spoke.
The woman's lips smiled a little, pursed a little, marking her
consideration of Adonie's words.
Adonie's legs were tossed up on the ottoman on which the woman sat.
The woman's hand rested a moment on the black polished calf of
Adonie's boot as she began to speak. Adonie's eyes were on her face intently;
her eyes were very bright,
and her cheeks held a faint blush of color such as was never there.
Adonie's skin was like old ivory, paler perhaps, but it held no ruddiness.