"Coming closer,
Cheap Cigarette," said Miss Rashleigh, listening. The wind was rising. A
brown shudder shook the air; leaves flew too fast to stick. The glass
rattled in the windows.
"Birds wild,
Cheap Newport," Miss Antonia nodded, watching the helter-skelter.
Old Miss Rashleigh filled her glass. As they sipped their eyes became
lustrous like half precious stones held to the light. Slate blue were
Miss Rashleigh's; Miss Antonia's red,
Cheap Newports, like port. And their laces and
their flounces seemed to quiver, as if their bodies were warm and
languid underneath their feathers as they drank.