"Does she not look sweetly?" said Violet, with a very satisfied tone; "and now we must have some little shining bits of ice, to make the brightness of her eyes. But her lips must be made very red,—redder than her cheeks. Perhaps, Peony, it will make them red if we both kiss them! There! she has kissed you, and now her lips are very red. And she blushed a little, too!"
"Oh, what a cold kiss!"
Sad, sad and drooping, looked the little white maiden, as she stood on the hearth-rug, with the hot blast of the stove striking through her like a pestilence. Once, she threw a glance wistfully toward the windows, and caught a glimpse, through its red curtains, of the snow-covered roofs, and the stars glimmering frostily, and all the delicious intensity of the cold night. The bleak wind rattled the window-panes, as if it were summoning her to come forth.
- The Snow-Image by Nathaniel Hawthorne
Natalia Vodianova by Ellen von Uwerth for Vogue Italia
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