A polished braid.
Low, sideways looped, of amber stain
The pale ears caught within its snare.
A profile like a dagger lain
Between the hair.
KATRINA SILVERSTAFF
“We have eaten a great deal, my friend, against the day of God.”
She was a fine woman, hard, magnificent, cold, Russian, married to a Jew, a doctor on the East Side.
You know that kind of woman, pale, large, with a heavy oval face.
A woman of ‘material’—a lasting personality, in other words, a ‘fashionable’ woman, a woman who, had she lived to the age of forty odd, would have sat for long fine hours by some window, overlooking some desolate park, thinking of a beautiful but lazy means to an end.