He could remember one or two points.

Her skin was olive-tinted and dark about the eyes, and the eyes themselves were like soft burning amber, and her hair was very black.
That was all he could recollect of her--saving her voice.

Ah yes! he had seen beautiful women enough, even in his quiet life, but he had never heard anything exactly like this woman's tones.

There are some sounds one never forgets.

For instance, the glorious cry of the trumpeter swans in Iceland when they pass in full flight overhead in the early morning; or the sweet musical ring of the fresh black ice on the river as it clangs again to sweep of the steel skate.