But then her voice always sounded as though she knew something better about you than you did yourself.

She was a long, strange-looking woman with narrow hands and feet.

Her face, too, was long and narrow and exhausted-looking; even her fair curled fringe looked burnt out and withered.

She was the only woman at the Bay who smoked, and she smoked incessantly, keeping the cigarette between her lips while she talked, and only taking it out when the ash was so long you could not understand why it did not fall.

When she was not playing bridge--she played bridge every day of her life--she spent her time lying in the full glare of the sun.