And perhaps there was one there who, looking alternately at the bright-eyed bride who sat beside him, and at that basket of wild roses, red, and white, and pink, and whitish-red and whitish-pink, may have said to himself that there was no red one there half so red as her lips, and no white one half so white as her clear and shining soul.
The narrow, long fingers were pearl-gray, tipped with whitish-pink claws that curved out over the tips. Nervously Bart moved one finger, and the long claw flicked out like a cat's, retracted. He swallowed. "Golly!" He felt strangely wobbly. "A beautiful job, if I do say so. Be careful not to scratch yourself, and practice picking up small things."