But a subtle something in her, of which she was quite unconscious, stirred the blood the way it responds to the first subtle touch of spring. Other girls have tendrils of woodbrown hair that stray down across their cheeks, but with Nancy you had to fight down an impulse to touch them wonderingly. Her eyes were that violet blue of twilight, when the insistent voice of adventure whispers softly to you from behind the hills. It was, most of all, this distant, mocking call in her eyes that set men struggling to unhamper their feet and follow her.
(Typographical errors above are due to OCR software and don't occur in the book.)
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