His smile is a pile of crude teeth, though this Charles Havier, our pauper to this tale, is viewing this woman with such admiration, that he sends forth that smile as though he were unlike himself; that is, as unlike a pauper, as unlike an emaciated man thought by many to simply be a drunk.
He watches her glide, upon two legs that act as if they are treading upon water. As if the path beneath her is making marks into it, by her gait, with hips that rock from side to side, adding charm to what Charles sees.
She is a beauty, as we have described of her. Tresses alike the bark of a tree, raining down from a scalp to her firm and bared shoulders. A simple gleam, in the form of a highlight is there from the warmth. From the sun, that creates its clashes against her porcelain skin, we see ivory emerge from it. Though, her calmness is like feathers upon a naked bird. Her calmness, great in this moment, though she shouldn’t be in any fear. It is merely a sort of calmness that is exuded by her temperament, that has been tempered by a comfortable upbringing.
Is she from the scene of Hollywood, out on some patrol away from the stage, dressed in something deemed to be “unusual attire” by those passersby who could recognize her face? Are there even those who’d notice this woman, should she be famous, by the bulbous shape and outline of her pinkish lips? Such people with an obsession with fame, when fame is an obsession, itself! Admiration is there for the portrait, though we describe her further for the sake of conjecture, and nothing more.