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Updated: May 20, 2025
She's dressed up fit to kill, and she's purtier than a peach-blossom. Jehosephat, Si, I believe she's the very same gal that you was castin' sheep's eyes at when you was home. Yes, it is." "Annabel?" gasped Si. "What's that?" said the Deacon, rousing to interest, but carefully putting his thumb down to mark the place where he left off. "Shorty thinks Annabel is out there gittin' on the train."
Gawaine brought Miss Lydia, looking neutral and stiff in an elegant peach-blossom silk; and Mr. Irwine came last with his pale sister Anne. No other friend of the family, besides Mr. Gawaine, was invited to-day; there was to be a grand dinner for the neighbouring gentry on the morrow, but to-day all the forces were required for the entertainment of the tenants.
Although she had not closed her eyes during the night, the morning air, and above all things the inward joy of a soul as spotless as the sky, and a little hidden fire, held in check by the modesty of youth, sent to her cheeks a flush as delicate as the peach-blossom in the early days of April.
The full circle consists of twelve discernible colours, with the Goethean peach-blossom diametrically opposite the green. It is in this region of the peach-blossom that again according to Rudolf Steiner we shall find a source of actively working life-forces, springing from the fourth metamorphosis of levity. Such is the prospect for research work guided on the new lines.
Should she? if he left the peach-blossom safe on the wall, Jeannot the woodcutter would come by and by and gather the fruit.
Once before we were led to recognize though from a different aspect that the spectrum is a phenomenon which, when rightly viewed, calls for a certain completion. In following Goethe's initial observations we realized that the known spectrum, extending from red via green to violet, has a counterpart extending from violet via peach-blossom to red.
"I who never knew a paternal roof, or family I who dropped upon earth like a ripe peach-blossom, and would have been crushed there, if my handsome and generous Charles de Poutet had not accidentally passed by while the wind was driving me along, and if he chivalrously had not picked me up and placed me in his button-hole. I never knew my family I was an orphan since my earliest childhood.
For Patty's beauty, as a poet once wrote of a dead woman, was the beauty of destiny, the beauty that changes history and turns men into angels or into beasts. Though Gabriella had seen lovely skins on Southern women rose-leaf skins, magnolia skins, peach-blossom skins she had seen nothing that resembled the exquisite colour and texture of Patty's face.
I went; and what is more, I heard Miss Sissie sing at her hall a pretty domestic song, most childish and charming. She impressed me not unfavourably, in spite of what Hilda said. Her peach-blossom cheek might have been art, but looked like nature. She had an open face, a baby smile and there was a frank girlishness about her dress and manner that took my fancy.
The wind had now changed to the north. Well, on I staggered, fighting every inch of my deplorably weary way. This odour of peach-blossom, my sickness, and the death of the two dogs, remained a wonder to me. I could not believe my eyes.
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