Women who are above the medium height must be either essays, or errors of nature.

No matter how lovely they may look, they invariably present some defect, like the work of a statuary, who, though possessed of genius, attempts for the first time sculpture on a grand scale.

She was small, but her neck, her shoulders, and her arms had the most exquisite contours.

Her hands with their tapering fingers and rosy nails looked like jewels preciously cared for.
Her feet, encased in silken stockings almost as thin as a spider's-web, were a marvel; not that they recalled the very fabulous foot which Cinderella thrust into the glass slipper; but the other, very real, very celebrated and very palpable foot, of which the fair owner (the lovely wife of a well-known banker) used to present the model either in bronze or in marble to her numerous admirers.

Her face was, not beautiful, nor even pretty; but her features were such as one seldom forgets; for, at the first glance, they startled the beholder like a flash of lightning.
Her forehead was a little high, and her mouth unmistakably large, notwithstanding the provoking freshness of her lips.