Wrenn."
She returned to the front of the room and went on talking to a
lank spinster about ruchings, but Mr. Wrenn felt that he had
known her long and as intimately as it was possible to know so
clever a young woman.
Nelly Croubel gave him the impression of a delicate prettiness,
a superior sort of prettiness, like that of the daughter of the
Big White House on the Hill, the Squire's house, at Parthenon;
though Nelly was not unusually pretty. Indeed, her mouth was
too large, her hair of somewhat ordinary brown. But her face
was always changing with emotions of kindliness and life. Her
skin was perfect; her features fine, rather Greek; her smile,
quick yet sensitive. She was several inches shorter than Mr.
Wrenn, and all curves. Her blouse of white silk lay tenderly
along the adorably smooth softness of her young shoulders. A
smart patent-leather belt encircled her sleek waist. Thin black
lisle stockings showed a modestly arched and rather small foot
in a black pump.
She looked as though she were trained for business; awake,
self-reliant, self-respecting, expecting to have to get things
done, all done, yet she seemed indestructibly gentle,
indestructibly good and believing, and just a bit shy.
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