Happily, though, had she been named for that unhappy lady
of old, the wife of King Matholwch, for this Branwen, too, had a
white, thin, wistful face, like that of an empress on a silver coin
which is a little worn. Her eyes were large and brilliant, colored
like clear emeralds, and her abundant hair was so much cornfloss, only
it was more brightly yellow and was of immeasurably finer texture. In
full sunlight her cheeks were frosted like the surface of a peach, but
the underlying cool pink of them was rather that of a cloud just after
sunset, Richard decided. In all, a taking morsel! though her shapely
hands were hard with labor, and she rarely laughed; for, as if in
recompense, her heart was tender, and she rarely ceased to smile as
though she were thinking of some peculiar and wonderful secret which
she intended, in due time, to share with you and with nobody else.
Branwen had many lovers, and preferred among them young Gwyllem ap
Llyr, a portly lad, who was handsome enough, though he had tiny and
piggish eyes, and who sang divinely.
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