He had just enough of the feminine love of dress to be a good judge--not of intellect, but of clothes.

He saw how they set their little feet, how they carried their chins, with what grace and sinuosity they swung their bodies.

A dainty, self-conscious swaying of the hips by a woman was to him as alluring as the glint of rare wine to a toper.

He would turn and follow the disappearing vision with his eyes.

He would thrill as a child with the unhindered passion that was in him.