.. "a star in
a jet-black cloud," I phrased, to myself. She sailed straight in like a
ship.
When she had settled herself,--beginning to draw, she appraised me
coolly, impartially, for a moment ... took my dimensions for her paper,
pencil held at arm's length....
Slowly, though I fought it back, a red wave of confusion surged over my
face and neck. I turned as red as ochre. I grew warm with perspiration
of embarrassment. I gazed fixedly out through the window....
"You're getting out of position," warned Professor Grant.
Vanna still observed me with steadfast, large, blue eyes. She started
her sketch with a few, first, swift lines.
"Excuse me," I rose, "I feel rather ill." I posed, "I've been up all
night drinking strong coffee and writing poems," I continued, my voice
rising in insincere, noisy falsetto.
"Step down a minute and rest, then, Mr. Gregory," advised Professor
Grant, puzzled, a grimace of distaste on his face.
"Isn't he silly," I overheard a girl student whisper to a loud-dressed
boy, whose easiness of manner with the female students I hated and
envied him for....
I resumed my pose. I blushed no more. I endured the cool, level,
impersonal glances of the girl I had fallen in love with....
"The model's a little wooden, don't you think, professor?" she observed,
to tease me, perhaps. She could not help but sense the cause of my
agitation.
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