At times I swear I’ve never met a more jaded fifteen-year-old, and your lie about being sixteen didn’t get by me for one second, believe it. She fluttered it with a trembling hand, averting her eyes from his, and he could hear her uneven breath behind it. Her figure, though slight, had all the fulness of health; and her complexion—still pale, but without its former sickly cast,—contrasted agreeably, by its extreme fairness, with the dark brows and darker lashes that shaded eyes which, if they had lost some of their original brilliancy, had gained infinitely more in the soft and chastened lustre that replaced it. Ashen blonde, a shade that would never excite the cynical commentary which men applied to certain types of blondes.
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