slight and rather tall, with a great degree of sentimentality and golden hair, dark gray-eyed, and with a countenance rather wistful and melancholy, she was sitting at the tea-table, in reverie. she poured herself a strong tea – she tried to say something, but was too exhausted to achieve it, her voice faltered into silence, and she devoted herself to her tea, looking as if she wanted to cry. her heart was anxious and throbbing, and her fancy presented her with images tragic and bittersweet.

    fingers trailing. legs of a dancer, a wrinkled dress. they have a dream together where everything moves slowly. they show too much skin and lift teacups to their mouths. the tea party is in a bungalow near the oceanside that has xmas lights strung from the ceiling and an out of tune piano. they improvise songs on it and call each other music notes. flowers grow from their palms in the dream they share.

    the dream is sent like a thief in the night; it slips into their sighing mouths and stirs them. they live too far apart to cling together, so they celebrate in slumber, each making a part. wide-brimmed straw hats. devotional candles on the tea table. belladonna in a vase. they make the dream together and in it they are like porcelain dolls who are playing at being human beings.