I only asked:
"Won't you walk into Mr. Craven's office, Miss Blake?"
"Now, I wonder," she said, "what good you think walking into his office
will do me!"
Nevertheless, she accepted the invitation. I have, in the course of
years, seen many persons suffering from heat, but I never did see any
human being in such a state as Miss Blake was that day.
Her face was a pure, rich red, from temple to chin; it resembled nothing
so much as a brick which had been out for a long time, first in the sun
and the wind, and then in a succession of heavy showers of rain. She
looked weather-beaten, and sun-burnt, and sprayed with salt-water, all
at once. Her eyes were a lighter blue than I previously thought eyes
could be. Her cheek-bones stood out more prominently than I had thought
cheek-bones capable of doing. Her mouth--not quite a bad one, by the
way--opened wider than any within my experience; and her teeth, white
and exposed, were suggestive of a set of tombstones planted outside a
stonemason's shop, or an upper and lower set exhibited at the entrance
to a dentist's operating-room. Poor dear Miss Blake, she and those
pronounced teeth parted company long ago, and a much more becoming
set--which she got exceedingly cheap, by agreeing with the maker to
"send the whole of the city of London to her, if he liked"--now occupy
their place.
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