“It is, if anything, a little above the average,” Brendon admitted. There were one or two bitter moments in his life when he had been made to feel that gentility laid on with a brush may sometimes crack and show weak places—that deportment and breeding are after all things apart. In between naps she increasingly found herself gazing at him, his large nose, his eyes circled in silvery plum shadows, his thin lips parted as he slept baring a rim of perfect teeth. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. "Look at him!" Ruth looked.
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