XXXIX 
  
THOROUGHBRED 
  
  
SHE is ugly enough, in all conscience, and 
yet how delicious she is! 
Time and Love have set the mark of their 
claws upon her, and taught her cruelly how 
much of youth and freshness each minute and 
each kiss carry away. 
Verily, she is ugly! She is an ant, a spider, if 
you will; even a skeleton:—but also she is a 
love-draught, a magistry, a sorcery! Take her 
all in all, she is exquisite. Time has not been 
able to destroy the sparkling rhythm of her 
walk, or the indestructible elegance of her ap-
parel. Love has not altered the suavity of her 
child’s breath; Time has torn no hair from her 
wild flowing mane, whence is exhaled in tawny 
perfume all the devil of South French vitality—
Nîmes, Aix, Arles, Avignon, Narbonne, Tou-
louse, towns amorous, charming, blessed of 
our father the Sun. 
Time and Love have attacked her tooth and 
nail, but in vain. They have diminished nothing