He saw then the side of her eyelids, eyes, and lashes, and the shape of her ear.

Next he noticed her figure, her skirt, and the very soles of her shoes.
Boldwood thought her beautiful, but wondered whether he was right in his thought, for it seemed impossible that this romance in the flesh, if so sweet as he imagined, could have been going on long without creating a commotion of delight among men, and provoking more inquiry than Bathsheba had done, even though that was not a little.

To the best of his judgement neither nature nor art could improve this perfect one of an imperfect many.

His heart began to move within him.

Boldwood, it must be remembered, though forty years of age, had never before inspected a woman with the very centre and force of his glance; they had struck upon all his senses at wide angles.
Was she really beautiful?
He could not assure himself that his opinion was true even now.