Beauty in the Country 



teen is centuries old. Is this why passion is almost 

 sad? 



II THE FORCE OF FORM 



Her shoulders were broad, but not too broad just 

 enough to accentuate the waist, and to give a pleasant 

 sense of ease and power. She was strong, upright, 

 self-reliant, finished in herself. Her bust was full, 

 but not too prominent more after nature than the 

 dressmaker. There was something, though, of the 

 corset-maker in her waist, it appeared naturally fine, 

 and had been assisted to be finer. But it was in the 

 hips that the woman was perfect: fulness without 

 coarseness; large but not big: in a word, nobly 

 proportioned. Now imagine a black dress adhering 

 to this form. From the shoulders to the ankles it 

 fitted " like a glove." There was not a wrinkle, a 

 fold, a crease, smooth as if cast in a mould, and yet 

 so managed that she moved without effort. Every 

 undulation of her figure, as she stepped lightly forward 

 flowed to the surface. The slight sway of the hip as 

 the foot was lifted, the upward and inward movement 

 of the limb as the knee was raised, the straightening 

 as the instep felt her weight, each change as the limb 

 described the curves of walking was repeated in her 

 dress. At every change of position she was as grace- 

 fully draped as before. All was revealed, yet all 

 concealed. As she passed there was the sense of a 

 presence the presence of perfect form. She was 

 lifted as she moved above the ground by the curves 

 of beauty as rapid revolution in a curve suspends the 

 down-dragging of gravity. A force went by the 

 force of animated perfect form. 



Merely as an animal, how grand and beautiful is 

 191 



