For those, however, who, like Miette, are healthy and live in the open air, it is a time of delightful gracefulness which once passed can never be recalled.
Miette was thirteen years of age, and although strong and sturdy did not look any older, so bright and childish was the smile which lit up her countenance.

However, she was nearly as tall as Silvere, plump and full of life.

Like her lover, she had no common beauty.

She would not have been considered ugly, but she might have appeared peculiar to many young exquisites.

Her rich black hair rose roughly erect above her forehead, streamed back like a rushing wave, and flowed over her head and neck like an inky sea, tossing and bubbling capriciously.