Now, Anne, though she did not posses the tall figure or striking
countenance of her cousins, the Woodbournes, or the brilliant
complexion of her brother, was one of those people who always look
well. She was small and slightly made, and very graceful; and
everything she wore was appropriate and becoming, so that, without
bestowing much thought on the matter, she never looked otherwise than
perfectly well dressed. She was rather pale; her eyes were grey,
with long dark lashes; and her hair brown; her features were well
formed and animated; and though by no means remarkable, everyone
called her nice-looking; some said she was pretty, and a few thought
and felt that her countenance was lovely. So much had lately been
said about dress--about Elizabeth's curls, and Helen's tails, and
Anne's lace--that, wonderful to say, it was the readiest subject
Elizabeth could find to meditate upon. As she looked at her cousin's
white muslin frock, with its border of handsome Moravian work, and
its delicate blue satin ribbons, at her well arranged hair, and
pretty mosaic brooch, she entered upon a calculation respecting the
portion of a woman's mind which ought to be occupied with her dress--
a mental process, the result of which might perhaps have proved of
great benefit to herself, and ultimately to Dora and Winifred, had it
not been suddenly cut short in the midst by a piercing scream from
the latter young lady, who had been playing on the floor with Edward
and Fido.
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