Leonor was in the doorway. To illumihate her
features a torch was
held by a black, a black man of wood.... I dared, for an instant, to eye
her fully. Her hair stood about her face like a blue mane.... Not a
beautiful woman; her parts did not fit well together; head of a lioness,
mind of a man, bust of a woman, torso of a child, grace of an angel and
discourse of the devil. While her eyes were her arresting feature, large
and deep black, her allure was an ability to dominate her misfitted
parts so that they merged into whatever shape her fantasy wished to
present from one moment to the next.... She was dressed in rags, or
rather a gorgeous robe deliberately torn.
Julian Levy, Memoir of an Art Gallery