It was covered with as many layers as a worm in
a cocoon. There were beads on lace, the lace incrusted on other lace,
chiffon, fish-net, a dimly seen filmy satin, cut in points, and, lower
down, an invisible foundation of taffeta. Through the interstices
there gleamed a revelation of the back itself, fat, white, again like
a worm in a cocoon.
Sylvia began to plan out a comparison of dress with architecture,
bringing out the insistent tendency in both to the rococo, to the
burying of structural lines in ornamentation. The cuff, for instance,
originally intended to protect the skin from contact with unwashable
fabrics, degenerated into a mere bit of "trimming," which has lost all
its meaning, which may be set anywhere on the sleeve. Like a strong
hand about her throat came the knowledge that she was planning to say
all this to please Felix Morrison, who was now within fifty feet of
her, being married to another woman.
She flamed to fever and chilled again to her queer absence of
spirit.... There was a chorister at the end of the line near her, a
pale young man with a spiritual face who chanted his part with shining
rapt eyes. While he sang he slipped his hand under his white surplice
and took out his watch. Still singing "Glory be to the Father, the
Son, and the Holy Ghost," he cast a hasty eye on the watch and frowned
impatiently. He was evidently afraid the business in hand would drag
along and make him late to another appointment, "--is now and ever
shall be, world without end.
Pages:
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490