The sun was out, but it had rained all night and the sandy road was
damp, solid, and smooth, like baked clay. It was half an hour
before breakfast-time when I returned to my cottage across the
road from the hotel.
As I was about to take a chair on the tiny porch I perceived the
sunlit figure of Miss Tevkin in the distance. She wore a large
sailor hat and I thought it greatly enhanced the effect of her tall
figure. She was making her way over a shaky little bridge. Then,
reaching the road, she turned into it. I remained standing like one
transfixed. The distance gave her new fascination. Every little
while she would pause to look up through something that glittered
in the sunshine, apparently an opera-glass. I had never heard that
opera-glasses were used for observing birds, but this was evidently
what she was doing at this moment, and the proceeding quickened
my sense not only of her intellectual refinement, but also of her
social distinction.
Presently she turned into a byway, passed the grove, and was lost
to view
I seated myself, my eye on the spot where I had seen her disappear.
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