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Stout, Rex, 1886-1975

"Under the Andes"

She glided
across, back and forth, now this way, now that, to the very edge
of the dizzy height, with wild abandon, or slow, measured grace,
or the rushing sweep of a panther.
The thing was beauty incarnate--the very idea of beauty itself
realized and perfected. It was staggering, overwhelming. Have you
ever stood before a great painting or a beautiful statue and felt
a thrill--the thrill of perception--run through your body to the
very tips of your fingers?
Well, imagine that thrill multiplied a thousandfold and you will
understand the sensation that overpowered me as I beheld, in the
midst of that dazzling blaze of light, the matchless Dance of the
Sun.
For I recognized it at once. I had never seen it, but it had
been minutely described to me--described by a beautiful and
famous woman as I sat on the deck of a yacht steaming into the
harbor of Callao.
She had promised me then that she would dance it for me some
day--
I looked at Harry, who had remained standing beside me, gazing as
I had gazed. His eyes were opened wide, staring at the swaying
figure on the column in the most profound astonishment.
He took his hand from my shoulder and stood erect, alone; and I
saw the light of recognition and hope and deepest joy slowly fill
his eyes and spread over his face.


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