The men's hair, like their host's, was nearly always wavy, but
that of the women, especially the younger, was a mass of either natural
or artificial curls, short and crisp about the head, and flowing down in
glistening ringlets to their waists.
"Could any one ever have dreamt of such a lovely place?" said Zaidie,
after their wondering eyes had become accustomed to the marvels about
them, "and yet--oh dear, now I know what it reminds me of! Flammarion's
book, 'The End of the World,' where he describes the remnants of the
human race dying of cold and hunger on the Equator in places something
like this. I suppose the life of poor Ganymede is giving out, and that's
why they've got to live in magnified exposition buildings, poor things!"
"Poor things!" laughed Redgrave. "I'm afraid I can't agree with you
there, dear. I never saw a jollier-looking lot of people in my life. I
daresay you're quite right, but they certainly seem to view their
approaching end with considerable equanimity."
"Don't be horrid, Lenox! Fancy talking in that cold-blooded way about
such delightful-looking people as these, why, they are even nicer than
our dear bird-folk on Venus, and of course they are a great deal more
like ourselves."
"Wherefore it stands to reason that they must be a great deal nicer!" he
replied, with a glance which brought a brighter flush to her cheeks.
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