Meanwhile
Mrs. Hermann sat placidly on the skylight, with a woollen shawl on
her shoulders. The excellent woman in response to my indignant
gesticulations fluttered a handkerchief, nodding and smiling in the
kindest way imaginable. The boys, only half-dressed, were jumping about
the poop in great glee, displaying their gaudy braces; and Lena in a
short scarlet petticoat, with peaked elbows and thin bare arms, nursed
the rag-doll with devotion. The whole family passed before my sight as
if dragged across a scene of unparalleled violence. The last I saw was
Hermann's niece with the baby Hermann in her arms standing apart from
the others. Magnificent in her close-fitting print frock she displayed
something so commanding in the manifest perfection of her figure that
the sun seemed to be rising for her alone. The flood of light brought
out the opulence of her form and the vigour of her youth in a glorifying
way. She went by perfectly motionless and as if lost in meditation; only
the hem of her skirt stirred in the draught; the sun rays broke on her
sleek tawny hair; that bald-headed ruffian, Nicholas, was whacking her
on the shoulder.
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