I had a “hipp goo’” dinner. (Permit a Chinese-English expression for once.)
Its inviting heaviness was like an honourable poem by Milton.
Schuyler’s house has a Miltonic presence.
Electric light is too imposing.
Candelabra are like a moon whose beams are a lenitive song.
The nude shoulders of Mrs. Schuyler, Jr., crimsoned in the rays from the candelabra.
The exposure of some part of the skin is the highest order of art. How to show it is just as serious a study as how to clothe it.
If I had such supreme shoulders as hers, I would not pause before displaying them.
What falling shoulders are mine!
The slope of the shoulders is prized in Japan. Amerikey is another country, you know.