With Woman Image Pack
AI ART PACK: With Woman Pack
PREVIEW: https://soretruth.com/arthistory/with-woman/index.html
FILES:
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File: 0000_with-woman.png
Summary: a shirtless woman with tattoos on her neck and arms is looking off to the side
Caption: The image depicts a young woman with blonde hair, adorned with tattoos on her neck and chest. Her skin is pale, and her eyes are blue, giving her a serene and contemplative expression. The background is a blurred forest scene, suggesting a natural setting.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (I've Been Thinking; by Azel Stevens Roe): Susie did at once as she was bidden: but she looked so very serious about it, and walked so very slowly, that Jim would just at that moment have preferred being in the boat by the side of Sam. She came directly towards him with the silver plate in her hand, and some rich-looking cake lying on it; so he had no alternative but to step towards her, and in the politest manner he could, select a piece. His attention was, of necessity, directed to the plate; but he could not help giving a glance at other things. And indeed, Jim, you are not to blame for blushing as you did, when you encountered the gaze of those sweet blue eyes, which, in all the unaffected simplicity of youth, were fastened upon you. Her golden-colored hair, parted smoothly from the fair forehead, and hung in such a cluster of curls upon her snow-white neck--the rich color that painted her parting lips, just tinged with the slightest blush her dimpled cheek. She meant nothing by her gaze; it was only the expression of an innocent curiosity in reference to the young gentleman she was waiting upon. His clothes, to be sure, were coarse, and such as well became the work in which he was engaged; but his collar was very white, and neatly tied with a black ribbon; and his light-brown hair, so soft and silky; his fair complexion, his pleasant voice, and good manners, all made a contrast which she did not understand; and it would seem that some of the company present, much older than Susie, were equally surprised.
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File: 0001_with-woman.png
Summary: A woman in a purple top and black skirt is holding a yellow umbrella and flying through a snowy landscape.
Caption: The image depicts a woman in a purple top and a black skirt, holding a yellow umbrella in her right hand. She is suspended in mid-air, with her feet dangling in the air, and her arms are outstretched. The background is a snowy landscape with mountains in the distance, and the sky is clear with a few clouds.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue: Ned Land was right; we were close to a vessel of which the tattered shrouds still hung from their chains. The keel seemed to be in good order, and it had been wrecked at most some few hours. Three stumps of masts, broken off about two feet above the bridge, showed that the vessel had had to sacrifice its masts. But, lying on its side, it had filled, and it was heeling over to port. This skeleton of what it had once been was a sad spectacle as it lay lost under the waves, but sadder still was the sight of the bridge, where some corpses, bound with ropes, were still lying. I counted five--four men, one of whom was standing at the helm, and a woman standing by the poop, holding an infant in her arms. She was quite young. I could distinguish her features, which the water had not decomposed, by the brilliant light from the Nautilus. In one despairing effort, she had raised her infant above her head-- poor little thing!--whose arms encircled its mother's neck. The attitude of the four sailors was frightful, distorted as they were by their convulsive movements, whilst making a last effort to free themselves from the cords that bound them to the vessel. The steersman alone, calm, with a grave, clear face, his grey hair glued to his forehead, and his hand clutching the wheel of the helm, seemed even then to be guiding the three broken masts through the depths of the ocean.
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File: 0002_with-woman.png
Summary: a young woman with bright red curly hair, wearing a black top, has a serious expression and is looking directly at the camera.
Caption: The image depicts a young woman with vibrant red curly hair, wearing a black top with ruffled details. Her expression is serious, and she is looking directly at the camera. The background is dark, which contrasts with the woman's bright hair and attire, making her stand out.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (The Best of the World's Classics, Restricted to Prose, Vol. VI (of X)--Great Britain and Ireland IV by Various): Everything was looking at its brightest at this moment, for the sun shone right on the pewter dishes, and from their reflecting surfaces pleasant jets of light were thrown on mellow oak and bright brass;--and on a still pleasanter object than these; for some of the rays fell on Dinah's finely molded cheek and lit up her pale-red hair to auburn, as she bent over the heavy household linen which she was mending for her aunt. No scene could have been more peaceful, if Mrs. Poyser, who was ironing a few things that still remained from the Monday's wash, had not been making a frequent clinking with her iron, and moving to and fro whenever she wanted it to cool; carrying the keen glance of her blue-gray eye from the kitchen to the dairy, where Hetty was making up the butter, and from the dairy to the back kitchen, where Nancy was taking the pies out of the oven. Do not suppose, however, that Mrs. Poyser was elderly or shrewish in her appearance; she was a good-looking woman, not more than eight-and-thirty, of fair complexion and sandy hair, well-shapen, light-footed; the most conspicuous article in her attire was an ample checkered linen apron, which almost covered her skirt; and nothing could be plainer or less noticeable than her cap and gown, for there was no weakness of which she was less tolerant than feminine vanity, and the preference of ornament to utility. The family likeness between her and her niece Dinah Morris, with the contrast between her keenness and Dinah's seraphic gentleness of expression, might have served a
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File: 0003_with-woman.png
Summary: The image depicts a woman in a regal outfit, with a crown on her head and elaborate jewelry around her neck. She is standing in front of a backdrop that features a large emblem with intricate designs.
Caption: The image depicts a woman dressed in elaborate medieval attire, including a red dress adorned with gold and silver embroidery, and a crown that is adorned with gold and jewels. She is also wearing multiple necklaces and bracelets, and her hair is styled in loose waves. The background features a dark, ornate design with intricate patterns and a central emblem that is partially obscured by the woman's head.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Marzio's Crucifix and Zoroaster by F. Marion Crawford): As Marzio fumbled with the fastenings of the door, two women came up and stopped. Marzio had his back turned, and Gianbattista touched his hat in silence. The younger of the two was a stout, black-haired woman of eight-and-thirty years, dressed in a costume of dark green cloth, which fitted very closely to her exuberantly-developed bust, and was somewhat too elaborately trimmed with imitation of jet and black ribands. A high bonnet, decorated with a bunch of purple glass grapes and dark green leaves, surmounted the lady's massive head, and though carefully put on and neatly tied, seemed too small for the wearer. Her ears were adorned by long gold earrings, in each of which were three large garnets, and these trinkets dangled outside and over the riband of the bonnet, which passed under her chin. In her large hands, covered with tight black gloves, she carried a dark red parasol and a somewhat shabby little black leather bag with steel fastenings. The stout lady's face was of the type common among the Roman women of the lower class--very broad and heavy, of a creamy white complexion, the upper lip shaded by a dark fringe of down, and the deep sleepy eyes surmounted by heavy straight eyebrows. Her hair, brought forward from under her bonnet, made smooth waves upon her low forehead and reappeared in thick coils at the back of her neck. Her nose was relatively small, but too thick and broad at the nostrils, although it departed but little from the straight line of the classic model. Altogether the Signora Pandolfi, christened Maria Luisa,
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File: 0004_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman in a red dress is standing in a desert with a large moon behind her
Caption: The image depicts a woman standing in a desert landscape, facing away from the viewer, with a large, glowing moon in the background. The woman is wearing a long, flowing red dress and is positioned on the left side of the image. The moon is positioned in the center of the image, with its bright orange hue contrasting with the surrounding desert landscape.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Graham's Magazine Vol XXXII. No. 3. March 1848 by Various): "The music ceased, but it died in cadences so soft that I stood with lips apart, half in doubt whether the spirit-sound I yet heard were the effect of imagination or not. Reluctantly I was compelled to believe myself deceived, and then turned to look upon the landscape. I never remember of seeing a lovelier night. It was now nine o'clock, and the sounds of business were hushed on the harbor, but boats, filled with gay revelers, glided ever the sparkling surface of the water, whose laugh and song added interest and life to the scene. Nearly opposite to us, upon the other side of the bay, were the extensive barracks, hospital, and the long line of the Marino, their white stuccoed walls glowing in the moonlight. On our left the beautiful city rose like an amphitheatre around the head of the bay; the hum of the populace, and the rumbling of wheels sounding faintly in the distance. Behind the town the blue conical peaks of the mountains melted into the sky. On our right was the roadstead and open sea, the moon's wake thereon glittering like a street in heaven, and reaching far away to other lands. All around us grew a wilderness of palm, orange, cocoa, and magnolia trees, vocal with the thousand strange noises of a tropical night. Directly below us, but a cable length from the overhanging palms which fringed the shore, lay a heavy English corvette in the deep shade of the land; but the arms of the sentry on her forecastle glinted in the moonbeams as he paced his lonely watch, and sung out, as the bell struck twice, his accustomed
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File: 0005_with-woman.png
Summary: The woman in the image is wearing a black dress with lace details and a necklace. She is standing in front of a green background with flowers and a mirror.
Caption: The image depicts a woman dressed in a black dress with lace sleeves and a high collar, adorned with a necklace and a brooch. She is standing in front of a green background, which is decorated with flowers and foliage, creating a sense of depth and richness. The woman's attire is detailed, with intricate embroidery and a high collar that adds to the overall elegance of the scene.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Ursula by Honore de Balzac): This little woman, thin, pale, and fair, dressed in a gown of white cotton with pattern of large, chocolate-colored flowers, a cap trimmed with ribbon and frilled with lace, and wearing a small green shawl on her flat shoulders, was Minoret's wife, the terror of postilions, servants, and carters; who kept the accounts and managed the establishment "with finger and eye" as they say in those parts. Like the true housekeeper that she was, she wore no ornaments. She did not give in (to use her own expression) to gew-gaws and trumpery; she held to the solid and the substantial, and wore, even on Sundays, a black apron, in the pocket of which she jingled her household keys. Her screeching voice was agony to the drums of all ears. Her rigid glance, conflicting with the soft blue of her eyes, was in visible harmony with the thin lips of a pinched mouth and a high, projecting, and very imperious forehead. Sharp was the glance, sharper still both gesture and speech. "Zelie being obliged to have a will for two, had it for three," said Goupil, who pointed out the successive reigns of three young postilions, of neat appearance, who had been set up in life by Zelie, each after seven years' service. The malicious clerk named them Postilion I., Postilion II., Postilion III. But the little influence these young men had in the establishment, and their perfect obedience proved that Zelie was merely interested in worthy helpers.
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File: 0006_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with curly hair is in the water
Caption: The image depicts a woman with curly hair, wearing large earrings, standing in the water. The water is a light blue color, and the sky is a clear blue with a few clouds. The woman's face is turned towards the camera, and she appears to be looking at the viewer.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Stubble by George Looms): Joe did not go back to the house with the rest of the family. Instead, he struck out across the fields away from them. He climbed the back boundary fence and was soon walking up to his knees in grass and weeds. The air was hot and sticky and heavily charged with a shimmering white water vapour. There were a few sluggish clouds with sombre centres hanging about the valley to the southwest, and there was a drone and zip of flying creatures in swarms above the drying weeds and stubble. Coming to a large oak tree standing solitary in that wasting field, he threw himself face downward on the ground in its shadow, careless that the grass was scant, and that his bed was scratchy. For a moment he lay in utter relaxation, caring for and observing nothing. And then, the sharp edge of his fatigue being broken, he slowly turned on his side and leaned his head on his palm, his elbow resting on the ground. It was a barren prospect that stretched out before him: lazy, shiftless land clear over the brow of the hill that sloped away to the house. The Fawcette place had not been worked to capacity for years, and there it lay, the waste of Mr. Mosby's opportunity. Tiny creatures swarmed in the grass. Joe could see them scurrying up and down the withered and drying stalks. A little crowd of gnats was hovering about his head and occasionally one would light upon his face and stick there dejectedly. Above the grass, against the blue of the sky beyond, he could see the shimmering waves hang tremulous like the air above a hot wood-stove in winter, and
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File: 0007_with-woman.png
Summary: young woman in red dress with a flower headpiece and a white lace collar.
Caption: The image depicts a young woman with long blonde hair, wearing a red off-shoulder dress adorned with a purple and white lace collar. She is standing in front of a Christmas tree, which is decorated with ornaments and lights. The woman's expression is serious, and she is looking directly at the camera.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue: "And therewith they set to changing horses. The peasants who were standing far off, quite silent, with reverently bared heads, came softly nearer, and looked eagerly at the King. An old Gingerbread- woman (SOMMELFRAU) of Lebbenichen [always knew her afterwards] took me in her arm, and held me aloft close to the coach-window. I was now at farthest an ell from the King; and I felt as if I were looking in the face of God Almighty (ES WAR MIR ALS OB ICH DEN LIEBEN GOTT ANSAHE). He was gazing steadily out before him," into the glowing West, "through the front window. He had on an old three-cornered regimental hat, and had put the hindward straight flap of it foremost, undoing the loop, so that this flap hung down in front, and screened him from the sun. The hat-strings (HUT- CORDONS," trimmings of silver or gold cord) "had got torn loose, and were fluttering about on this down-hanging front flap; the white feather in the hat was tattered and dirty; the plain blue uniform, with red cuffs, red collar and gold shoulder-bands [epaulettes WITHOUT bush at the end], was old and dusty, the yellow waistcoat covered with snuff;--for the rest, he had black-velvet breeches [and, of course, the perpetual BOOTS, of which he would allow no polishing or blacking, still less any change for new ones while they would hang together]. I thought always he would speak to me. The old woman could not long hold me up; and so she set me down again. Then the King looked at the Clergyman, beckoned him near, and asked, Whose child it was? (Herr von Marwitz of
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File: 0008_with-woman.png
Summary: the image depicts a woman with a large orange flower on her head, surrounded by various flowers and a frame with three gemstones.
Caption: The image showcases a surreal and intricate artwork that appears to be a portrait of a woman with a floral headdress. The woman's face is depicted in a realistic style, with her eyes closed and a serene expression. The floral headdress, adorned with orange and pink flowers, is positioned above her head, adding a touch of whimsy to the otherwise somber portrait.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (The Lily of the Valley by Honore de Balzac): We reached the door of the chamber and the abbe opened it. I then saw Henriette, dressed in white, sitting on her little sofa which was placed before the fireplace, on which were two vases filled with flowers; flowers were also on a table near the window. The expression of the abbe's face, which was that of amazement at the change in the room, now restored to its former state, showing me that the dying woman had sent away the repulsive preparations which surround a sick-bed. She had spent the last waning strength of fever in decorating her room to receive him whom in that final hour she loved above all things else. Surrounded by clouds of lace, her shrunken face, which had the greenish pallor of a magnolia flower as it opens, resembled the first outline of a cherished head drawn in chalks upon the yellow canvas of a portrait. To feel how deeply the vulture's talons now buried themselves in my heart, imagine the eyes of that outlined face finished and full of life,--hollow eyes which shone with a brilliancy unusual in a dying person. The calm majesty given to her in the past by her constant victory over sorrow was there no longer. Her forehead, the only part of her face which still kept its beautiful proportions, wore an expression of aggressive will and covert threats. In spite of the waxy texture of her elongated face, inward fires were issuing from it like the fluid mist which seems to flame above the fields of a hot day. Her hollow temples, her sunken cheeks showed the interior
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File: 0009_with-woman.png
Summary: the woman is wearing a dress that is made of clouds and has a crown on her head. she is standing in front of a city skyline with a cityscape in the background.
Caption: The image presents a woman with long, flowing red hair, adorned with a crown, set against a backdrop of a cityscape with a prominent skyline. The sky is filled with clouds, and the cityscape is bathed in warm hues of orange and pink, suggesting a sunset. The woman's attire is a mix of blue and red, with a flowing cloak that contrasts with her flowing hair.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (Diary of a Pedestrian in Cashmere and Thibet by by William Henry Knight): "As for Rukminee, with agitated frame, she gazed in every direction, as the moon is dimmed by the morn. Extreme anxiety showed in the heart of the fair one; she gazed, standing in a lofty balcony; her frame was agitated, her heart most sad; she drew deep sighs. While, through distress, tears rain from her eyes, she says, "Why has not Krishna arrived?" When the marriage-day dawns, she sends, by a Brahmin, to Krishna: "Receptacle of favour, -- When two hours of the day remain I shall go to perform worship in the temple of Dewee, to the east of the city." Her companions and attendants, arriving, first filled a square place in the courtyard with pearls, and spread a seat of gold set with pearls, on which they caused Rukminee to sit, and anointed her with oil by the hands of seven married women whose husbands were alive. Afterwards, having rubbed her with fragrant paste, they adorned her with sixteen ornaments, and put on her twelve trinkets, and having arrayed her in a red boddice they seated her, fully adorned. Then the young Rukminee, accompanied by all her handmaidens, went, with the sound of music, to perform her devotions. Screened by a curtain of silk, and surrounded by crowd upon crowd of companions, she appeared among the swarthy group who accompanied her as beautiful, as amid dark blue clouds, the moon with its company of stars!"
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File: 0010_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with large black horns on her head is in a forest
Caption: The image depicts a woman with dark curly hair, wearing a dark, ruffled dress. She is standing in a forest, with dense green foliage in the background. The woman's face is turned towards the camera, and she appears to be looking directly at the viewer.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Paris under the Commune by John Leighton): A green soil and a red sky--In a black coffin is a half-naked woman, with a Phrygian cap on her head, endeavouring to push up the lid with all her might. Jules Favre, lean, small, head enormous, under lip thick and protruding, hair wildly flying like a willow in a storm, wearing a dress coat, and holding a nail in one hand and a hammer in the other, with his knee pressed upon the coffin-lid, is trying to nail it down, in spite of the very natural protestations of the half-naked woman. In the distance, and running towards them, is Monsieur Thiers, with a great broad face and spectacles, also armed with a hammer. Below is written: "If one were to listen to these accursed Republics, they would never die." Signed, Faustin. Same author--Same woman. But this time she lies in a bed hung with red flags for curtains. Her shoulders a little too bare, perhaps, for a Republic, but she must be made attractive to her good friends the Federals. At the head of the bed a portrait of Rochefort; Rochefort is the favoured one of this lady, it seems. Were I he, I should persuade her to dress a little more decently. Three black men, in brigands' hats, their limbs dragging, and their faces distorted, approach the bed, singing like the robbers in Fra Diavolo: "Ad.... vance ... ad ... vance ... with ... pru ... dence ...!" The first, Monsieur Thiers, carries a heavy club and a dark lantern; Jules Favre, the second, brandishes a knife, and the third, carries nothing, but wears a peacock's feather in his hat, and.... I have never seen Monsieur
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File: 0011_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with long blonde hair and a dark cloak is looking to the side with a serious expression. she is standing in front of a fiery background with a halo of light around her head
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long, wavy hair, dressed in a dark, textured garment, standing in front of a fiery background. The woman's gaze is directed towards the right side of the image, and her expression is serious. The fiery background is illuminated by a combination of orange and red hues, creating a dramatic and intense atmosphere.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue: Immediately after these words, which made the two Moslems quail, the pirate's daughter hastily entered the cavern with a blazing torch, the flashes of which awakened from slumber into life and glow the various tints of mosses, lichens, and stalactites innumerable that studded the ample vault. In this flitting and singular illumination, the appearance of the Uzcoque maiden was awful. Above the common stature of woman, and finely formed, she was attired in a white woollen garment, carelessly adjusted and confined at the waist by broad red girdle, from which it fell in long and graceful folds to her feet. Her face was a perfect oval; her features of regular and striking beauty; her complexion, naturally of that clear rich brown, which lends more lustre to the eyes than the purest red and white, was now ghastly with intense alarm; and this death-like paleness imparted a more prominent and commanding character to her well-defined, jet-black brows, and the full, dark, humid eyes, which gleamed like brilliants through their long lashes. Heavy tresses of raven hair, escaping beneath her turban-like head-dress, streamed out like a sable banner as she rushed into the cavern, then fell and flowed in waving luxuriance over neck and shoulders to her girdle. The Turks in the interior of the cavern, gazed in speechless wonder at this beautiful apparition standing erect in the strong red light. Waving her torch with energetic and graceful action, she appeared like an antique sybil at the moment of inspiration, or some Arabian enchantress preparing for an
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File: 0012_with-woman.png
Summary: The woman is wearing a black dress and has a large earring in her ear. She is looking to the side and has a serious expression.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with her hair styled in a bun, wearing a black dress with a high neckline. She is adorned with a pair of earrings that are predominantly purple with a sparkling effect, adding a touch of glamour to her appearance. The background is a vibrant pink, creating a striking contrast that draws attention to the woman.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue: The fireplaces are large and deep, with fierce crooked-looking fire-dogs. There is constantly a rousing fire, and a huge pot over it, full of sauer-kraut and pork, to which the good woman of the house is always busy in attending. She is a little fat old lady, with blue eyes and a red face, and wears a huge cap like a sugar-loaf, ornamented with purple and yellow ribbons. Her dress is of orange-colored linsey-woolsey, made very full behind and very short in the waist—and indeed very short in other respects, not reaching below the middle of her leg. This is somewhat thick, and so are her ankles, but she has a fine pair of green stockings to cover them. Her shoes—of pink leather—are fastened each with a bunch of yellow ribbons puckered up in the shape of a cabbage. In her left hand she has a little heavy Dutch watch; in her right she wields a ladle for the sauerkraut and pork. By her side there stands a fat tabby cat, with a gilt toy-repeater tied to its tail, which “the boys” have there fastened by way of a quiz.
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File: 0013_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman wearing a tiara and a dress with a blue hue and sparkling details, with a large moon in the background, and rain falling around her
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long, wavy blonde hair adorned with a sparkling tiara, set against a backdrop of a night sky with a full moon and a dark blue hue. The woman is positioned in the center of the image, her gaze directed towards the viewer, and her expression is serious.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Evangelists of Art by James Patrick): Mr. Watts has painted several pictures of Orpheus and Eurydice. Some of them show the figures at full length, but the one in our illustration is less complete. Still it contains the principal points that are to be seen in the other companion paintings. The scene is the gloomy gateway of the world of the dead. It is all rough and rocky and dark. Through its opening you catch a glimpse of the bright upper world, and of the blue sky with its white clouds. Orpheus stands in the shadow. His body has the glow of life and health. He wears his minstrel's garland on his brow. But his face is full of anguish. For he has looked backwards, and he sees that Eurydice, who is close behind him, is a pale corpse again. Her arms, that have just been stretched out to clasp his neck, have lost their power and are falling down lifelessly. Her head is drooping upon her shoulder. Her eyes are closed, and her fair face is turned towards the under world. One of the pictures shows a lily which has dropped from her hand, and lies trailing and broken among the stones at her feet. Her long golden hair is blowing backwards into the dark. The right arm of Orpheus is stretched out in a vain attempt to grasp her, and to hold her back from being carried away by the resistless power that draws her. His left hand holds his lyre, and all its strings save one are broken. His eye is fixed on Eurydice's face in a gaze of hopeless pain. The picture is terrible rather than beautiful to look upon. It tells us how, in the
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File: 0014_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with long hair is looking out at a sunset with her face turned away
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long, wavy hair, set against a backdrop of a sunset. The woman is positioned in profile, her face turned towards the right side of the frame. The setting sun casts a warm glow over the scene, creating a serene and peaceful atmosphere.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Jethou by E. R. Suffling): It may strike the reader as strange, and it is _strange_, I will allow; but on another occasion my life was saved in a remarkable manner. One afternoon late in the winter, after a heavy fall of rain, I was sitting near the brink of the granite cliff on the west side of the island, making a sketch of some rock masses in the glow of the ruddy setting sun, when "Begum" became suddenly restive, and rubbed several times with his head against my leg, looking up into my eyes at intervals. Then he would walk away, looking round as if wanting me to follow and see something (a proceeding he had often done before); but being busy I did not give way to his solicitations, and went on working. This did not please him, for he now took hold of my coat sleeve, and gave me a tug, with his eyes at the same time fixed on mine; so, to oblige him, I rose, and went after him to see what wonder he had to shew me. Contrary to his usual custom he appeared to have nothing for me to see, but seemed pleased to have me follow him, shewing his joy by wagging his tail, as if he would wriggle his body in two, and looking up into my face over his shoulder to shew his pleasure. As I had nearly finished my sketch I thought I would humour him, and avoid taking cold by sitting too long in the cool atmosphere among the damp rocks. With this thought in my mind I turned round to fetch my colours and sketch, when suddenly near the top of the island a large block of granite, about the size of a thirty-six gallon barrel became detached, and commenced a downward career, crashing
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File: 0015_with-woman.png
Summary: a young woman with short hair and large earrings is standing in a city at night with neon lights and rain
Caption: The image depicts a young woman with short hair, wearing a black top, standing in front of a neon sign that reads "111". The neon sign is illuminated with blue and red lights, casting a vibrant glow on the woman's face and hair. The background is blurred, focusing attention on the woman and the neon sign.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue: At last, having looked at everything, Ramsay examined a splendid clock on the mantelpiece, before a fine glass, which mounted to the very top of the lofty room, when, accidentally casting his eyes to the looking-glass, he perceived in it that the door of the room, to which his back was turned, was open, and that a female was standing there, apparently surprised to find a stranger, and not exactly knowing whether to advance or retreat. Ramsay remained in the same position, as if he did not perceive her, that he might look at her without her being aware of it. It was, as he presumed, the syndic's daughter; but how different from the person he had conjured up in his mind's eye, when at his toilet! Apparently about seventeen or eighteen years of age, she was rather above the height of woman, delicately formed, although not by any means thin in her person: her figure possessing all that feminine luxuriance, which can only be obtained when the bones are small, but well covered. Her face was oval, and brilliantly fair. Her hair of a dark chestnut, and her eyes of a deep blue. Her dress was simple in the extreme. She wore nothing but the white woollen petticoats of the time, so short, as to show above her ankles, and a sort of little jacket of fine green cloth, with lappets, which descended from the waist, and opened in front. Altogether, Ramsay thought that he had never in his life seen a young female so peculiarly attractive at first sight: there was a freshness in her air and appearance so uncommon, so unlike the
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File: 0016_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with red hair and purple lipstick is posing in front of a window with a warm orange glow
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long, wavy red hair, wearing a purple blazer over a black top. The background is a warm, orange-red hue, suggesting a setting that could be a sunset or a sunset-like scene. The woman's expression is serious, and she is looking directly at the camera.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (The Real Thing and Other Tales by Henry James): LADY MARESFIELD had given her boy a push in his plump back and had said to him, “Go and speak to her now; it’s your chance.” She had for a long time wanted this scion to make himself audible to Rose Tramore, but the opportunity was not easy to come by. The case was complicated. Lady Maresfield had four daughters, of whom only one was married. It so happened moreover that this one, Mrs. Vaughan-Vesey, the only person in the world her mother was afraid of, was the most to be reckoned with. The Honourable Guy was in appearance all his mother’s child, though he was really a simpler soul. He was large and pink; large, that is, as to everything but the eyes, which were diminishing points, and pink as to everything but the hair, which was comparable, faintly, to the hue of the richer rose. He had also, it must be conceded, very small neat teeth, which made his smile look like a young lady’s. He had no wish to resemble any such person, but he was perpetually smiling, and he smiled more than ever as he approached Rose Tramore, who, looking altogether, to his mind, as a pretty girl should, and wearing a soft white opera-cloak over a softer black dress, leaned alone against the wall of the vestibule at Covent Garden while, a few paces off, an old gentleman engaged her mother in conversation. Madame Patti had been singing, and they were all waiting for their carriages. To their ears at present came a vociferation of names and a rattle of wheels. The air, through banging doors, entered in damp, warm gusts, heavy with the stale, slightly sweet
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File: 0017_with-woman.png
Summary: a young woman with long silver hair, wearing a white blouse and orange pants, stands in a dimly lit room with a blue hue
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long, wavy silver hair, wearing a white blouse and a necklace with an orange flower pendant. She is standing in front of a dark, blue-lit background, which creates a dramatic effect. The woman's expression is serious, and her gaze is directed towards the camera.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Sir Tom by Mrs. Oliphant): This transfer was finally made, for Lucy had no small obstinacies and was glad to please her husband. The "blue" was of the lightest tint of shimmering silk, and gave a little background of colour, upon which Lucy's fairness and whiteness stood out. Sir Thomas always took an interest in his wife's dress; but it was seldom he occupied himself so much about it. It was he who went to the conservatory to get a flower for her hair. He took her downstairs upon his arm "as if they were out visiting," Lucy said, instead of at home in their own house. She was amused at all this form and ceremony, and came down to the drawing-room with a little flush of pleasure and merriment about her, quite different from the demure little Lady Randolph, half frightened and very serious, with the weight on her mind of a strange language to be spoken, who but for Sir Tom's intervention would have been standing by the fire awaiting her visitor. The Dowager was downstairs before her, looking grave enough, and Jock, slim and dark, supporting a corner of the mantelpiece, like a young Caryatides in black. Lucy's brightness, her pretty shimmer of blue, the flower in her hair, relieved these depressing influences. She stood in the firelight with the ruddy irregular glare playing on her, a pretty youthful figure; and her husband's assiduities, and the entire cessation of any apparent consciousness on his part that any question had ever arisen between them, made Lucy's heart light in her breast. She forgot even the possibility of having to talk French in the
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File: 0018_with-woman.png
Summary: woman posing in front of a river with a dog.
Caption: The image depicts a woman standing in front of a river, with a dog on her shoulder. The woman is wearing a black leather jacket and has blonde hair. The background is a serene night scene with a river and a bridge in the distance, illuminated by warm, glowing lights.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (In Mesopotamia by Martin Swayne): That night we reached Kurna and tied up alongside the Garden of Eden. It was pitch black. A string of little Arab boys suddenly emerged from a brightly illuminated door each with a sack and slipped on board. This was the mail for Basra, from the dwellers in Eden. About nine a dim, white-robed procession passed down the river-side with a lamp, a torch and a beating drum and vanished into a building. A wedding was being celebrated in the Garden of Eden. Next morning that bride of yesterday might have cast her white veil over the scene. Through the clinging mist the life of the little hamlet gradually became visible. A cafe revealed itself, a collection of wooden settles in a small square, and beyond a big dark doorway. A fat Arab in yellow appeared and gazed at us. Then an old wizened fellow, a _haji_ from his green turban showing he had seen Mecca, came up and they conversed. Green Turban was plainly lamenting. He pointed to our ship, to the telegraph-office, to a squad of Gurkhas marching past wearing their ration baskets as hats, and threw up his hands. The fat cafe proprietor shrugged his shoulders and pointed to the bazaar. His argument was plain. Business was good and he was content with the changes. Green Turban drew his robes closer round him, shook his head and went off, a sad, gaunt figure on whose face was stamped that expression which is common all the world over when new wine and old bottles make contact. As he passed up the bank a barge load of howitzers, their yellow muzzles gazing skywards, churned its way up
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File: 0019_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with a glowing halo and a glowing moon behind her, wearing a necklace and a bracelet, with her hand raised in a gesture
Caption: The image depicts a woman with dark hair, wearing a sleeveless dress, standing against a backdrop of a fiery, orange-red sky. The woman's right hand is raised, palm facing upwards, and she is looking to the left. The background is filled with a swirling pattern of orange and red hues, creating a dramatic and intense atmosphere.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (John Marchmont's Legacy, Volume III (of 3) by Mary E. Braddon): "The days were all alike,--long, dreary, and desolate; so I scarcely know how the time went. My stepmother brought me religious books, and told me to read them; but they were hard, difficult books, and I couldn't find one word of comfort in them. They must have been written to frighten very obstinate and wicked people, I think. The only book that ever gave me any comfort, was that dear Book I used to read to papa on a Sunday evening in Oakley Street. I read that, Edward, in those miserable days; I read the story of the widow's only son who was raised up from the dead because his mother was so wretched without him. I read that sweet, tender story again and again, until I used to see the funeral train, the pale, still face upon the bier, the white, uplifted hand, and that sublime and lovely countenance, whose image always comes to us when we are most miserable, the tremulous light upon the golden hair, and in the distance the glimmering columns of white temples, the palm-trees standing out against the purple Eastern sky. I thought that He who raised up a miserable woman's son chiefly because he was her only son, and she was desolate without him, would have more pity upon me than the God in Olivia's books: and I prayed to Him, Edward, night and day, imploring Him to bring you back to me.
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File: 0020_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman wearing a pink hat and a lace dress is looking down
Caption: The image depicts an elderly woman wearing a pink hat, with her face turned to the side, giving a close-up view of her face. The background is blurred, with a blue hue that suggests a night setting. The woman's face is illuminated by a pink hue, which contrasts with the blue background, creating a dramatic effect.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (In Indian Mexico (1908) by Frederick Starr): a head-dress, although it is nothing of the kind. It is in reality a waist-garment with sleeves. It is made of lace or cotton, or linen, and is bordered at the neck, the sleeves, and the lower margin with broad ruffs of pleated lace. Only at church or on some important or ceremonial occasion is the _huipl_ worn as it was meant to be. Usually at church the wearer draws the garment over her upper body, but does not put her arms into the sleeves, nor her head through the neck-opening, simply fitting her face into this in such a way that it appears to be framed in a broad, oval, well-starched border of pleated lace. Usually, however, the garment is not even worn in this manner, but is turned upside down and carelessly hung upon the head so that the broad lower fringe of lace falls back upon the hair, while the upper part of the garment, with the sleeves, the collar, and cuff-ruffs, hangs down upon the back. The whole effect is that of a fine crest rising from the head, coursing down the back, and moving with the breeze as the woman walks. These Zapotec women are fond of decoration, but particularly prize gold coins. In the past, when Tehuantepec was more important than now, it was no uncommon thing to see a woman in this market with several hundred dollars in gold coins hanging to her neck chain. In these later days of little trade and harder times, these once prized decorations have been spent, and it is rare to see any woman wearing more than twenty to fifty dollars as display.
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File: 0021_with-woman.png
Summary: woman posing in a green dress with a necklace and earrings.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with voluminous curly hair, wearing a green dress with a ruffled top and a necklace. She is standing in front of a cityscape with tall buildings and a body of water, suggesting a winter setting. The woman's expression is serious, and her gaze is directed towards the camera.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (The Lifted Veil by George Eliot): Suddenly I was conscious that my father was in the room, but not alone: there were two persons with him. Strange! I had heard no footstep, I had not seen the door open; but I saw my father, and at his right hand our neighbour Mrs. Filmore, whom I remembered very well, though I had not seen her for five years. She was a commonplace middle-aged woman, in silk and cashmere; but the lady on the left of my father was not more than twenty, a tall, slim, willowy figure, with luxuriant blond hair, arranged in cunning braids and folds that looked almost too massive for the slight figure and the small-featured, thin-lipped face they crowned. But the face had not a girlish expression: the features were sharp, the pale grey eyes at once acute, restless, and sarcastic. They were fixed on me in half-smiling curiosity, and I felt a painful sensation as if a sharp wind were cutting me. The pale-green dress, and the green leaves that seemed to form a border about her pale blond hair, made me think of a Water-Nixie--for my mind was full of German lyrics, and this pale, fatal-eyed woman, with the green weeds, looked like a birth from some cold sedgy stream, the daughter of an aged river.
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File: 0022_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman in a uniform with a hat and scarf is smiling
Caption: The image depicts an elderly woman with curly hair, wearing a red uniform with a yellow hat adorned with a badge. The woman is smiling and looking directly at the camera. She is also wearing a yellow scarf with black and white patterns.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (The Professor by (AKA Charlotte Bronte) Currer Bell): I had thought to see a tall, meagre, yellow, conventual image in black, with a close white cap, bandaged under the chin like a nun's head-gear; whereas, there stood by me a little and roundly formed woman, who might indeed be older than I, but was still young; she could not, I thought, be more than six or seven and twenty; she was as fair as a fair Englishwoman; she had no cap; her hair was nut-brown, and she wore it in curls; pretty her features were not, nor very soft, nor very regular, but neither were they in any degree plain, and I already saw cause to deem them expressive. What was their predominant cast? Was it sagacity?--sense? Yes, I thought so; but I could scarcely as yet be sure. I discovered, however, that there was a certain serenity of eye, and freshness of complexion, most pleasing to behold. The colour on her cheek was like the bloom on a good apple, which is as sound at the core as it is red on the rind.
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File: 0023_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman in a purple dress with a red belt is standing in a snowy landscape with a blue bird perched on her shoulder.
Caption: The image depicts a woman dressed in a vibrant purple dress adorned with red and pink floral patterns, standing in a snowy landscape. She is holding a blue bird in her left hand, which is perched on her shoulder. The background features a mountain range under a clear sky, with the sun casting a warm glow on the scene.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (His Masterpiece by Emile Zola): Ah! what splendid sunsets they beheld during those weekly strolls. The sun accompanied them, as it were, amid the throbbing gaiety of the quays, the river life, the dancing ripples of the currents; amid the attractions of the shops, as warm as conservatories, the flowers sold by the seed merchants, and the noisy cages of the bird fanciers; amid all the din of sound and wealth of colour which ever make a city's waterside its youthful part. As they proceeded, the ardent blaze of the western sky turned to purple on their left, above the dark line of houses, and the orb of day seemed to wait for them, falling gradually lower, slowly rolling towards the distant roofs when once they had passed the Pont Notre-Dame in front of the widening stream. In no ancient forest, on no mountain road, beyond no grassy plain will there ever be such triumphal sunsets as behind the cupola of the Institute. It is there one sees Paris retiring to rest in all her glory. At each of their walks the aspect of the conflagration changed; fresh furnaces added their glow to the crown of flames. One evening, when a shower had surprised them, the sun, showing behind the downpour, lit up the whole rain cloud, and upon their heads there fell a spray of glowing water, irisated with pink and azure. On the days when the sky was clear, however, the sun, like a fiery ball, descended majestically in an unruffled sapphire lake; for a moment the black cupola of the Institute seemed to cut away part of it and make it look like the waning moon; then the globe assumed a violet
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File: 0024_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman wearing a hat with a black band and a brown jacket is looking to the side with her mouth slightly open.
Caption: The image depicts a woman wearing a black hat, with her face illuminated by a blue light. The background is a gradient of orange and blue, creating a dramatic effect. The woman's expression is serious, and her eyes are wide open, giving the impression of intense focus.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (The Golden Age in Transylvania by Mór Jókai): The road to Kronstadt through the Boza Pass leads to this little castle in a few hours, and at the very time when John Kemény had abandoned himself utterly to pleasure in Hermanstadt, a long line of horsemen was moving out of the castle; there might have been two thousand Turkish riders, recognizable from afar by their red turbans and their snow-white caftans; with them were a few hundred Wallachian howitzers in charge of men in brown woolen cloaks and black turbans. The way was so narrow here that the horsemen could ride only two by two, and those in the rear had hardly emerged from the mountain pass when the first riders were already in Tatrang. Their leader was a medium sized, sunburned man, with eyes like an eagle's; there was a long scar across his forehead; the sharp upward turn of his moustache indicated an unusually hot temper, an impression confirmed by the short, crisp speech, the proud turn of the head, and the abrupt movements. Beyond the village he called a halt to await the rear; at the very end rumbled two baggage-wagons and a melon-shaped calêche, the entire baggage of the Turk. A child followed, whose serious expression and gleaming short sword seemed hardly appropriate to the full round face; he might have been twelve years old. Within the carriage, the curtains of which had been thrown wide open to give free play to the evening breeze, sat a young woman of possibly two and thirty, whose dress was partly Turkish, partly Christian; for she wore the loose silk trousers and short blue caftan of Turkish women, but
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File: 0025_with-woman.png
Summary: woman in a leather jacket with a serious expression, looking to the side, in a dimly lit room with blue and red lights.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long, wavy hair, wearing a black leather jacket, standing in a dimly lit room with blue and red lights in the background. The woman's expression is serious, and she is looking directly at the camera. The lighting in the room is dramatic, with the blue and red lights creating a contrast that highlights the woman's features.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (While Caroline Was Growing by Josephine Daskam Bacon): This corner was a wing, set at right angles to the main building, and as she rounded it she found herself at the edge of an inner court. In the opposite wing, looking straight across the court, was a lighted room with a long French window opening directly on the shaven turf, and in the center of this window there sat in a high, carved chair a very old woman. She was carefully dressed in deep black, with pure white ruffles at her neck and around her shrunken wrists, and a lace cap on her thin, white hair. Her feet were on a carved foot-stool, and a quaint silver lamp, set on a slender table at her side, threw a stream of light across the court. Her face, lined with countless wrinkles, was bent upon a large book in her lap; from its pages she read in a low, steady voice--the passionless, almost terrifying voice of great and weary age:
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File: 0026_with-woman.png
Summary: the woman in the image is looking to the right with a serious expression. she is wearing a red and black armor and has long blonde hair. the background is a sunset with orange and yellow hues.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long blonde hair, wearing a red and black armor, standing in front of a fiery background. The woman's expression is serious, and her gaze is directed towards the right side of the frame. The background is a fiery orange and red, with a gradient effect that creates a dramatic and intense atmosphere.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (Autumn Glory by Ren Bazin): The cripple had soon reached the spot where the girls were standing. They fell apart even more quickly than the men had done, for they guessed his intention; a lane opened between them reaching up to the houses. At the far end of this living avenue, clad in black dresses and white coifs, standing erect, quite alone, was seen Flicit Gauvrit. She was the one he sought. She knew it; she had foreseen her triumph. No sooner had she observed Mathurin Lumineau sitting on the family bench in church, then she had said to herself: "He has come for me. I will hide away by the Michelonnes' house, and he will follow me." For she was gratified to have it seen that he still loved her, the girl to whom, handsome though she was, no suitors came. The women with whom she had been talking had prudently moved away; she stood alone, under the Michelonnes' window, looking like a lay figure from some museum in her costume of heavy stiff material, the braids of her lustrous brown hair shining under the small coif, her dazzlingly white complexion and uncovered throat. Erect, with arms pendant on either side of the moir apron, she watched her former lover coming towards her between the double row of inquisitive lookers-on. The many faces bent upon the girl in nowise intimidated her. Perhaps in the suit and cravat Mathurin was wearing she recognised the very ones he had worn at the time of the accident; any way, she remained calm and unabashed, her face even wore a slight smile. He drew nearer, leaning on his
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File: 0027_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with long hair, looking at the camera with a serious expression, with a glowing orange light on her face
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long, wavy hair, set against a dark background. The woman's face is illuminated by a warm, orange glow, which casts a dramatic effect on her features. Her eyes are bright blue, and her lips are slightly parted, suggesting a serious expression.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue: She was not more than fifteen. Her form, voice, and manner belonged to the period of transition from girlhood. Her face was perfectly oval, her complexion more pale than fair. The nose was faultless; the lips, slightly parted, were full and ripe, giving to the lines of the mouth warmth, tenderness, and trust; the eyes were blue and large, and shaded by drooping lids and long lashes; and, in harmony with all, a flood of golden hair, in the style permitted to Jewish brides, fell unconfined down her back to the pillion on which she sat. The throat and neck had the downy softness sometimes seen which leaves the artist in doubt whether it is an effect of contour or color. To these charms of feature and person were added others more--an indefinable air of purity which only the soul can impart, and of abstraction natural to such as think much of things impalpable. Often, with trembling lips, she raised her eyes to heaven, itself not more deeply blue; often she crossed her hands upon her breast, as in adoration and prayer; often she raised her head like one listening eagerly for a calling voice. Now and then midst his slow utterance, Joseph turned to look at her, and, catching the expression kindling her face as with light, forgot his theme, and with bowed head, wondering, plodded on.
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File: 0028_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman wearing a headpiece with flowers and butterflies in her hair, standing in a forest with a butterfly on her head
Caption: The image depicts a woman with a vibrant, jewel-like headdress adorned with flowers and butterflies. The headdress is a mix of purple, blue, and red hues, with intricate patterns that resemble a butterfly's wings. The woman's face is turned to the right, and her eyes are focused on the camera.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue: They continued to smoke, watching each other. Though Montefiore compelled himself not to give the slightest look which might contradict his apparent coldness, he could not refrain, at a moment when Perez turned his head to expectorate, from casting a rapid glance at the young girl, whose sparkling eyes met his. Then, with that science of vision which gives to a libertine, as it does to a sculptor, the fatal power of disrobing, if we may so express it, a woman, and divining her shape by inductions both rapid and sagacious, he beheld one of those masterpieces of Nature whose creation appears to demand as its right all the happiness of love. Here was a fair young face, on which the sun of Spain had cast faint tones of bistre which added to its expression of seraphic calmness a passionate pride, like a flash of light infused beneath that diaphanous complexion,--due, perhaps, to the Moorish blood which vivified and colored it. Her hair, raised to the top of her head, fell thence with black reflections round the delicate transparent ears and defined the outlines of a blue-veined throat. These luxuriant locks brought into strong relief the dazzling eyes and the scarlet lips of a well-arched mouth. The bodice of the country set off the lines of a figure that swayed as easily as a branch of willow. She was not the Virgin of Italy, but the Virgin of Spain, of Murillo, the only artist daring enough to have painted the Mother of God intoxicated with the joy of conceiving the Christ,--the glowing imagination of the boldest and
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File: 0029_with-woman.png
Summary: young woman in a white dress with lace sleeves and a red rose in her hair, standing in front of a blurred background with warm lighting.
Caption: The image depicts a woman standing in front of a blurred background, which appears to be a sunset or sunrise. The woman is wearing a white dress with lace details and has her hair styled in a bun. She is looking to the side, possibly at something or someone off-camera.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Flint by Maud Wilder Goodwin): Mr. Flint (superior as usual) preferred to go in the only society which interests him, and therefore set off _alone_ in his dory. His absence did not have any visibly depressing effect on the party in the sail-boat. Winifred was at her very best; and Philip Brady seemed to appreciate her. If I were a matchmaker, I should have tried to throw them together, for they do seem just cut out for each other; in spite of all my efforts to give them opportunities of making each other's acquaintance on intimate terms, they never appeared to take advantage of them. But on Friday it was different. In the first place, anything more warm-blooded than an oyster must have fallen in love with Winifred at first sight on that evening. She wore a white flannel yachting-dress, and a red-felt hat cocked up on one side, and as she stood against the sail in the sunset, she was--Well, I'm too old to be silly; but really that girl is something worth looking at when she is nice. To-day, she looked like a frump, and talked like a fury.
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File: 0030_with-woman.png
Summary: woman in black suit with red lipstick, looking forward, in a subway car, with red lights in the background.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with curly hair, wearing a black blazer, standing in a subway car. She is looking to the side, with her face turned towards the camera. The background is blurred, indicating that the focus is on the woman and her attire.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Lords of the North by A. C. Laut): The moonlight shone across the wigwam opening. The captive had heard the English tongue, and was listening. But the Sioux squaw had also heard and recognized the voice of a former prisoner. She ran forward a pace, then hesitated, looking back doubtfully. As she turned her head, out from the gloom of the thicket with the leap of a lynx, lithe and swift, sprang the crouching form of Louis Laplante. I felt Little Fellow all in a tremor by my side; the tremor not of fear, but of the couchant panther; and he uttered the most vicious snarl I have ever heard from human throat. Louis alighted neatly and noiselessly, directly behind the Sioux woman. She must have felt his presence, for she turned round and round expectantly. Louis, silent and elusive as a shadow, circled about her, tripping from side to side as she turned her head. But the fire betrayed him. She had wheeled towards the forest as if spying for the unseen presence among the foliage, and Louis deftly dodged behind. The move put him between the fire and his antagonist, and the full profile of his queer, bending figure was shadowed clear past the woman. She turned like some vengeful, malign goddess, and I thought it all up with the daring trapper; but he doffed his red toque and swept the advancing fury the low bow of a French courtier. Then he drew himself erect and laughed insolently in the woman's face. His careless assurance allayed her suspicions.
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File: 0031_with-woman.png
Summary: a young woman with a tiara and earrings is standing in a city at night with rain falling
Caption: The image depicts a woman standing in a city at night, with a cityscape in the background. She is wearing a black dress and has a tiara on her head. The woman is looking to the side, possibly at something or someone off-camera.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (The Golden Web by Anthony Partridge): Winifred talked more than usual at the short dinner which they had at a famous caf close to the Opera House. Deane, a little weary with the strain of the day, was at first irresponsive, but gradually he forgot himself in the interest of playing his new part. She was wearing a dress of black velvet, a rope of pearls which had been sent for her inspection only that afternoon, and pearl earrings, concerning which she gravely asked his opinion. There was something a little un-English-looking about her to-night,--about the small, delicate head with the masses of brown hair, the pale complexion, the deep eyes with their hidden depths, the pearls which fell so gracefully over her black gown. Many people knew him by sight, and pointed him out to others,--the man whom everyone was talking about, the man who was supposed to be shivering on the brink of social and financial ruin, whose very freedom from justice might be a matter of hours,--sitting there with a girl who was unknown to all of them, yet without a doubt one of his own world! Some of them wondered that she should care to be seen about with him at such a time. These, however, were mostly the men. The women, who saw him as usual, well-groomed, good-looking, debonair, only admired him the more for his courage.
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File: 0032_with-woman.png
Summary: young woman with wet hair, wearing green earrings, looking to the side, with a blurred background.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with wet hair, wearing a green earring. The earring is circular and has a green and orange design. The woman's face is turned towards the camera, and her eyes are directed towards the viewer.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Chambers's Edinburgh Journal, No. 450 by Various): 'No, Andr; it is better that we should part here. We must not trust too much to our courage, it has failed us so often already.' And as she spoke, she raised her head, and looked up tearfully at her companion, disclosing as she did so a face of striking beauty, although worn and pallid to a painful degree, and appearing even more so than it really was from the total absence of her hair. The tears sprang to Adelaide's eyes. In the careworn countenance before her she read a bitter tale. Almost instinctively, she drew forth her purse, and leaning over the side of the carriage, called 'Lucille! Lucille!' But the young girl did not hear her; she had already turned, and was hastening rapidly away, while Andr stood gazing after her, as if uncertain of the reality of what had just occurred. He was so deeply engrossed in his reflections, that he did not hear his name repeatedly pronounced by both Adelaide and her friend. The latter at length directed the servant to accost him, and the footman was alighting for that purpose, when two men turned quickly the corner of the street, and perceiving Andr, stopped suddenly, and one of them exclaimed: 'Ah, good-evening, Bernard; you are just the very fellow we want;' and taking Andr by the arm, he drew him under the shade of a _porte cochre_, and continued, as he placed a small morocco case in his hand: 'Take care of this for me, Andr, till I return: I shall be at your lodgings in an hour. Giraud and I are going to the Cit, and as this pocket-book contains valuables, we are afraid of losing it. _Au
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File: 0033_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman wearing a red dress with flowers on her head and a crown of flowers is in a forest with a forest of trees in the background.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with a floral headpiece, set against a backdrop of bokeh lights. The bokeh lights are predominantly red and orange, creating a vibrant and dreamy atmosphere. The woman's attire is a mix of red and white, adorned with intricate floral patterns.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 15, No. 88, February, 1865 by Various): "The Flight of Florimel" is an upright landscape. Florimel, on a white horse, is rushing with long leaps through the forest. The horse and rider are so near the front of the picture as to occupy an important space in the foreground. The lady, in her dress of beaten gold, with fair hair, and pale, frightened face, clings with both hands to her bridle, and half looks back towards her pursuer. The color of this picture is of exquisite beauty. The tender white and pale yellows of the horse and rider show like fairy colors in a fairy forest. The whole is wonderfully light and airy, flickering between light and shade. The forest has no heavy glooms. The light breaks through everywhere. The forms of the trees are light and piny; the red soil is seen, the roots of the trees, the broken turf, the sandy ground. All the colors are delightfully broken up in the mysterious half-light which confuses the outlines of every object, without making them shadowy. Such a picture one might see with half-shut eyes in a sunny wood, if one had more poetry than prose in one's head, and were well read in the "Farie Queen."
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File: 0034_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman in a military uniform with gold buttons and a crown on her head.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long blonde hair styled in a bun, wearing a dark military uniform adorned with gold buttons and badges. The uniform is detailed with various insignia, including a badge on the chest and a badge on the shoulder. The woman's expression is serious, and her gaze is directed towards the camera.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (The Evolution of Fashion by Florence Mary Gardiner): There are three distinct periods in the life of a Norwegian woman, and each one has marked characteristics, particularly as regards dress. During girlhood, up to the time of confirmation, a solemn occasion for which there is much preparatory training, girls do not usually go from home to work, or earn their own living. Among the poorer classes this ceremony takes place when they are about fifteen. Their petticoats are short and their hair is arranged in two long plaits. After confirmation they are supposed to regard life from its more serious aspect, and to engage themselves with various duties, according to their station. The third stage, of course, is married life, and it should be stated that neither men nor women can enter upon the holy contract unless they can bring proof of their confirmation, and can show ample evidence of sufficient means to provide for a household. The marriage is preceded by a betrothal ceremony, when the young couple go to the church, accompanied by their friends, and exchange rings of plain gold and presents of jewellery and apparel, which must be worn on the wedding day. At her marriage the peasant bride wears the crown. It has a rim of brass to fit the head, and the upper portion is of silver and gold, sometimes embellished with precious stones. Such crowns are generally heirlooms, and it is not uncommon for all the brides of one family for centuries to wear the same adornment for the head. A very usual dress on such an occasion is a plain skirt of some woollen material, with a
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File: 0035_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with long hair wearing a headdress of leaves and flowers in autumn
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long, curly hair adorned with a headdress of red and orange leaves. The woman is facing away from the viewer, giving a sense of depth and perspective. The background is blurred, with a warm, golden hue that suggests a sunset or sunrise.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (The Secret Glory by Arthur Machen): "I think I caught, as I say, a distant vision of that Night which excels the Day in its splendour. It began with the eyes turned away from the sunset, with lips that refused kisses. Then there came a command to the heart to cease from longing for the dear land of Gwent, to cease from that aching desire that had never died for so many years for the sight of the old land and those hills and woods of most sweet and anguished memory. I remember once, when I was a great lout of sixteen, I went to see the Lupton Fair. I always liked the great booths and caravans and merry-go-rounds, all a blaze of barbaric green and red and gold, flaming and glowing in the middle of the trampled, sodden field against a background of Lupton and wet, grey autumn sky. There were country folk then who wore smock-frocks and looked like men in them, too. One saw scores of these brave fellows at the Fair: dull, good Jutes with flaxen hair that was almost white, and with broad pink faces. I liked to see them in the white robe and the curious embroidery; they were a note of wholesomeness, an embassage from the old English village life to our filthy 'industrial centre.' It was odd to see how they stared about them; they wondered, I think, at the beastliness of the place, and yet, poor fellows, they felt bound to admire the evidence of so much money. Yes, they were of Old England; they savoured of the long, bending, broad village street, the gable ends, the grave fronts of old mellow bricks, the thatched roofs here and there, the bulging window of the 'village
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File: 0036_with-woman.png
Summary: the woman is wearing a black dress and has red lipstick on her lips. she is looking at the camera with a serious expression.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with striking red lipstick, wearing a black outfit with intricate details. Her hair is styled in a bun, and she is looking directly at the camera with a serious expression. The background is blurred, focusing the viewer's attention on the woman.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (A Charming Fellow, Volume II (of 3) by Frances Eleanor Trollope): On her crimson lounging-chair reclined Minnie Bodkin. Her dress was of heavy cream-white silk, with gold ornaments. She wore nothing in her abundant dark hair, and her pale face seemed to many who looked upon it that evening to be more lovely than ever. Her lips had a tinge of red in them, and her eyes were full of lustre. There was a suppressed excitement about her looks and manner, which lighted up her perfectly-moulded features with a strange beauty that struck all observers. Even the McDougalls could not but admit that Minnie looked very striking, but added that she was a little too theatrically got up, didn't you think so? That was poor Minnie's failing. All for effect! "And," added Rose, "she has a good foil in that little pink and white creature who sits in the corner beside her chair, and never moves. I suppose she is told to do it. But the idea of dressing that chit up in a violet silk gown fit for a married woman! And she has no figure to carry it off. I really think it rather a strong measure on the Bodkins' part to ask us all to meet a girl of such very low origin on equal terms. But there it is, you see! Poor dear Minnie delights in doing startling things, unlike other people. And, of course, her parents refuse her nothing."
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File: 0037_with-woman.png
Summary: a young woman with long dark hair, wearing a dark jacket, is looking to the side with her eyes closed, with a blurred background of colorful lights
Caption: The image depicts a woman with a serene expression, her face lit by a warm, glowing light that casts a soft glow on her features. The background is a vibrant mix of colors, predominantly pink and blue, with some areas illuminated by a soft glow that enhances the woman's features. The lighting creates a sense of depth and highlights the contours of her face, particularly her eyes and nose.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (Visionaries by James Huneker): Deplorably bored, he passed his hotel on the Quai and turned into the Rue Jeanne d'Arc, which led by the faade of the Palais de Justice. He had studied it carefully, and it did not, this dull afternoon in September, hold his interest long; he sauntered on, not feeling strong enough to light a cigarette. Decidedly, Rouen was become tiresome. He would go back to Paris by the evening train--or to Dieppe, thence to London, on the morning boat. Presently he found himself nearing the Porte de la Grosse Horloge. Through its opening poured vivacious working girls and men in blouse and cap, smoking, chattering, gesticulating. It was all very animated, and the wanderer tried to enjoy the picture. Then over against the crenellated wall, under the tablet bearing the quaint inscription picked out in choice Latin, Ferval saw a tall girl. Her bare head would not have marked her in a crowd where motley prevailed; it was her pose that attracted him,--above all, her medival face, with its long, drooping nose which recalled some graven image of Jean Goujon. Her skin was tanned; her hair, flame-coloured, was confined by a classic fillet; her eyes, Oriental in fulness, were light blue--Ferval had crossed to the apparition and noted these things. She did not return his stare, but continued to gaze at the archway as if expecting some one. Young, robust, her very attitude suggested absolute health; yet her expression was so despairing, her eyes so charged with misery, that involuntarily he felt in his pocket for money. And then he saw that in
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File: 0038_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman wearing a black dress with large wings is flying in the air
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long, wavy brown hair, wearing a dark, textured, long-sleeved dress with a ruffled hem. She is in a dynamic pose, with her arms outstretched and her wings spread wide, suggesting she is in flight. The background is a plain, light gray color, which contrasts with the dark clothing and the woman's flowing wings.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (May Brooke by Anna H. Dorsey): Opposite to him, on a low crimson chair, as antique in its pattern as the owner of the mansion, sat a maiden, who might have passed her seventeenth summer. She was not beautiful, and yet her face had a peculiar charm, which appealed directly to the softer and kindlier emotions of the heart. Her eyes, large, gray and beautifully fringed with long, black lashes, reminded one of calm mountain lakes, into whose very depths the light of sun and stars shine down, until they beam with tender sweetness, and inward repose. There was a glad, happy look in her face, which came not from the fitful, feverish glow of earth, but, like rays from an inner sanctuary, the glorious realities of faith, hope, and love, which possessed her soul, diffused their mysterious influence over her countenance. Thick braids of soft, brown hair, were braided over her round, childlike forehead: and her dress of some dark, rich color, was in admirable harmony with her peculiar style. Her proportions were small and symmetrical, and it was wonderful to see the serious look of dignity with which she sat in that old crimson chair, knitting away on a comfort, as fast as her little white fingers could shuffle the needles. For what purpose could such a fragile small creature have been created? She looked as if it would not be amiss to put her under a glass-case, or exhibit her as a specimen of wax-work; or hire her out, at so much per night, to fashionable parties, to play "_fairy_" in the Tableaux. But the wind
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File: 0039_with-woman.png
Summary: a group of people in a room with a man and woman conversing
Caption: The image depicts a group of people gathered in a dimly lit room, likely a theater or auditorium, with a focus on a woman in a light-colored dress and a man in a beige shirt. The group appears to be engaged in a conversation, with the woman and the man facing each other, while the other individuals are facing away from them.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (The Best of the World's Classics, Restricted to prose. Volume III (of X) - Great Britain and Ireland I by Francis W. Halsey): _October 5._--To the King's house; and there, going in, met with Knipp, and she took us up into the tireing-rooms: and to the woman's shift, where Nell was dressing herself, and was all unready, and is very pretty, prettier than I thought. And into the scene-room, and there sat down, and she gave us fruit: and here I read the questions to Knipp, while she answered me, through all her part of _Flora Figarys_, which was acted to-day. But, Lord! to see how they were both painted would make a man mad, and did make me loath them; and what base company of men comes among them, and how lewdly they talk! and how poor the men are in clothes, and yet what a show they make on the stage by candle-light, is very observable. But to see how Nell cursed for having so few people in the pit, was pretty; the other house carrying away all the people at the new play, and is said, now-a-days, to have generally most company, as being better players. By and by into the pit, and there saw the play, which is pretty good.
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File: 0040_with-woman.png
Summary: a young woman with blonde hair is peeking out from behind a wall.
Caption: The image depicts a young woman with blonde hair, wearing a bracelet on her left wrist, peeking over a rusty metal railing. She is positioned in a crouched position, her body leaning against the railing, with her face turned towards the camera. The background is blurred, focusing attention on the woman and the railing.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue: The slave-trader Walker, on his arrival in New Orleans, took up his quarters at this slave pen with his gang of human cattle: and the morning after, at ten o'clock, they were exhibited for sale. There, first of all, was the beautiful Althesa, whose pale countenance and dejected look told how many sad hours she had passed since parting with her mother at Natchez. There was a poor woman who had been separated from her husband and five children. Another woman, whose looks and manner were expressive of deep anguish, sat by her side. There, too, was "Uncle Geemes," with his whiskers off, his face shaved clean, and the grey hair plucked out, and ready to be sold for ten years younger than he was. Toby was also there, with his face shaved and greased, ready for inspection. The examination commenced, and was carried on in a manner calculated to shock the feelings of any one not devoid of the milk of human kindness. "What are you wiping your eyes for?" inquired a fat, red-faced man, with a white hat set on one side of his head, and a cigar in his mouth, of a woman who sat on one of the stools. "I s'pose I have been crying." "Why do you cry?" "Because I have left my man behind." "Oh, if I buy you I will furnish you with a better man than you left. I have lots of young bucks on my farm." "I don't want, and will never have, any other man," replied the woman. "What's your name?" asked a man in a straw hat of a tall Negro man, who stood with his arms folded across his breast, and leaning against the wall. "My name is
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File: 0041_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman wearing a black dress with intricate lace patterns and a large flower on her head.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long, dark hair styled in a bun, wearing a black dress with intricate lace patterns. She is facing away from the camera, giving a sense of depth and perspective to the image. The background is dark, creating a contrast that highlights the woman's attire and the intricate details of her dress.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Scenes of Clerical Life by George Eliot): She was a lovely woman--Mrs. Amos Barton, a large, fair, gentle Madonna, with thick, close, chestnut curls beside her well-rounded cheeks, and with large, tender, short-sighted eyes. The flowing lines of her tall figure made the limpest dress look graceful, and her old frayed black silk seemed to repose on her bust and limbs with a placid elegance and sense of distinction, in strong contrast with the uneasy sense of being no fit, that seemed to express itself in the rustling of Mrs. Farquhar’s _gros de Naples_. The caps she wore would have been pronounced, when off her head, utterly heavy and hideous--for in those days even fashionable caps were large and floppy; but surmounting her long arched neck, and mingling their borders of cheap lace and ribbon with her chestnut curls, they seemed miracles of successful millinery. Among strangers she was shy and tremulous as a girl of fifteen; she blushed crimson if any one appealed to her opinion; yet that tall, graceful, substantial presence was so imposing in its mildness, that men spoke to her with an agreeable sensation of timidity.
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File: 0042_with-woman.png
Summary: A woman in a colorful hat and a woman in a pink dress embrace each other in a portrait.
Caption: The image depicts two women, one with white hair and the other with gray hair, standing close to each other against a dark background. The woman on the left is wearing a white blouse with lace details and a purple apron, while the woman on the right is dressed in a vibrant yellow and pink outfit with a large, colorful hat. The hat is adorned with a rainbow-colored feather.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue ('Lizbeth of the Dale by Marian Keith): Elizabeth and Rosie found each other immediately, and sat close together on the very front row. Rosie was a perfect vision in a white dress, with a string of beads around her neck and her curls tied up by a broad pink ribbon. Elizabeth, in her Sunday pinafore, starched a little stiffer than usual, gazed at her in boundless admiration. She had supposed, before leaving home, that Mary would be the most beautiful creature present; but Mary's pale flaxen curls and colorless pinafore were lost in the gorgeous display on all sides. Katie and Lottie Price were the grandest. They fairly bristled with ribbons and lace; but indeed all the girls were so gayly dressed that the Gordons looked like little gray sparrows in a flock of birds of Paradise. Mary sighed and looked around miserably at the gay throng; but little did Elizabeth care. She sat on the front bench, with Rosie on one side and Eppie on the other, and rapturously swung her feet and laughed and talked, all oblivious of her dun-colored clothes. It was quite impossible not to be wildly happy at such a grand festive gathering. The schoolroom seemed some wonderful place she had never seen before. The middle section of the sheets was drawn back, displaying the platform with the teacher's desk and the blackboard, all fairly smothered in cedar and balsam boughs and tissue-paper roses, and smelling as sweet as the swamp behind the school. It was such a bower of beauty that Elizabeth could scarcely believe she had stood there
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File: 0043_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with a serious expression, looking to the right, with her eyes wide open, her lips slightly parted, her hair tied back, and her skin is pale
Caption: The image depicts a woman with a serious expression, her eyes wide open and her gaze directed towards the camera. Her hair is dark and pulled back, and she is wearing a white shirt. The background is dark, creating a contrast that highlights the woman's features.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (The Beckoning Hand and Other Stories by Grant Allen): I turned round, as if by accident, and gave a passing glance, where Irene waved her fan, at the girl beside me. She was beautiful, certainly, in a terrible, grand, statuesque style of beauty; and I saw at a glimpse that she had Southern blood in her veins, perhaps Negro, perhaps Moorish, perhaps only Spanish, or Italian, or Provenal. Her features were proud and somewhat Jewish-looking; her eyes large, dark, and haughty; her black hair waved slightly in sinuous undulations as it passed across her high, broad forehead; her complexion, though a dusky olive in tone, was clear and rich, and daintily transparent; and her lips were thin and very slightly curled at the delicate corners, with a peculiarly imperious and almost scornful expression of fixed disdain. I had never before beheld anywhere such a magnificently repellent specimen of womanhood. For a second or so, as I looked, her eyes met mine with a defiant inquiry, and I was conscious that moment of some strange and weird fascination in her glance that seemed to draw me irresistibly towards her, at the same time that I hardly dared to fix my gaze steadily upon the piercing eyes that looked through and through me with their keen penetration.
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File: 0044_with-woman.png
Summary: a young woman with long blonde hair and a headband with bubbles is posing in front of a red background
Caption: The image depicts a young woman with long, wavy blonde hair, adorned with a large, glittery headband. She is wearing a white top and has a neutral expression. The background is a vibrant mix of red and blue hues, creating a striking contrast that draws attention to the woman's features.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue: In 1912 representatives of the association attended the State conventions of all the parties and extended hearings were granted by the Resolutions Committees. Their treatment was in great contrast to that of earlier days when they could scarcely obtain five or ten minutes before a committee. This year every party declared for woman suffrage in its platform. It was a gratification to sit in the great convention hall at Saratoga and hear the Hon. Horace White of Syracuse, who throughout his long years in the State Senate had constantly opposed the amendment, report in his capacity as chairman of the Resolutions Committee that the Republican party favored a speedy referendum on woman suffrage. Many dramatic features of propaganda characterized these years, which marked the awakening of the women of the entire State and brought into the ranks many wide-awake, independent young women, who wanted to use aggressive and spectacular methods, and these the older workers did not discourage. Those that attracted the most attention were the suffrage "hikes," in which Miss Rosalie Jones, a girl of wealth and position, was the leading spirit. She sent a picturesque account of these "hikes," which has had to be condensed for lack of space.
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File: 0045_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with glowing flowers on her head and dress in a forest at night
Caption: The image depicts a woman with a glowing, ethereal appearance, adorned with intricate floral and lace-like patterns on her dress. Her hair is adorned with small, glowing flowers, adding a magical touch to her appearance. The background is a soft, ethereal light that enhances the woman's ethereal glow, creating a dreamlike atmosphere.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue: Slipping away, Gabriella went into the hail, and passing her room, noiselessly pushed open the door of the nursery, where the children were sleeping. A night lamp was burning in one corner under a dark shade, and the nurse's knitting, a pile of white yarn, was lying on the table in the circle of green light, which was as soft as the glimmer of a glow-worm in a thicket. In their two little beds, separated by a strip of white rug, the children were sleeping quietly, with a wonderful freshness, like the dew of innocence, on their faces. Frances lay on her back, very straight and prim even in sleep, with the sheet folded neatly under her dimpled chin, her hands clasped on her breast, and her golden curls spread in perfect order over the lace-trimmed pillow. Her miniature features, framed in the dim gold of her hair, had the trite prettiness of an angel on a Christmas card; and beside her ethereal loveliness there was something gnome-like in the dark sturdiness of Archibald, who slept on his side, with his fists pressed tightly under the pillow, and the frown produced by near-sightedness still wrinkling his forehead. Though he was not beautiful, he showed already the promise of character in his face, and his personality, which was remarkably developed for a child of his age, possessed a singular charm. He was the kind of child people describe as "unlike other children." His temperament was made up of surprises, and this quality of unexpectedness inspired in his mother a devotion that was almost tragic in its
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File: 0046_with-woman.png
Summary: a young woman with blonde hair is standing in a dimly lit room with a red and blue light in the background. she is wearing a necklace and has a necklace around her neck.
Caption: The image depicts a young woman with blonde hair, wearing a blue shirt, standing in front of a wall adorned with intricate designs. The background is filled with vibrant, glowing lights that create a sense of depth and depth. The woman's gaze is directed towards the camera, and her expression is serious.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (The Devil’s Paw by E. Phillips Oppenheim): According to plans made earlier in the day, a small shooting party left the Hall immediately after luncheon and did not return until late in the afternoon. Julian, therefore, saw nothing more of Catherine until she came into the drawing-room, a few minutes before the announcement of dinner, wearing a wonderful toilette of pale blue silk, with magnificent pearls around her neck and threaded in her Russian headdress. As is the way with all women of genius, Catherine’s complete change of toilette indicated a parallel change in her demeanour. Her interesting but somewhat subdued manner of the previous evening seemed to have vanished. At the dinner table she dominated the conversation. She displayed an intimate acquaintance with every capital of Europe and with countless personages of importance. She exchanged personal reminiscences with Lord Shervinton, who had once been attached to the Embassy at Rome, and with Mr. Hannaway Wells, who had been first secretary at Vienna. She spoke amusingly of Munich, at which place, it appeared, she had first studied art, but dilated, with all the artist’s fervour, on her travellings in Spain, on the soft yet wonderfully vivid colouring of the southern cities. She seemed to have escaped altogether from the gravity of which she had displayed traces on the previous evening. She was no longer the serious young woman with a purpose. From the chrysalis she had changed into the butterfly, the brilliant and cosmopolitan young queen of fashion, ruling easily, not with the arrogance of rank, but with the
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File: 0047_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with blonde hair is sitting on a bed with a red and blue background
Caption: The image depicts a woman with wavy blonde hair, set against a backdrop of red and blue hues. The woman is positioned in a frontal view, with her head turned slightly to the right. Her eyes are directed towards the camera, and her expression is serious.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (The Convert by Elizabeth Robins): 'He _is_ my novelist. So I've a right to be sorry he knows nothing about women. See here! Even in his most rationalized vision of the New Time, he can't help betraying his old-fashioned prejudice in favour of the "dolly" view of women. His hero says, "I prayed that night, let me confess it, to an image I had set up in my heart, an image that still serves with me as a symbol for things inconceivable, to a Master Artificer, the unseen captain of all who go about the building of the world, the making of mankind----"' Vida's finger skipped, lifting to fall on the heroine's name. '"Nettie... She never came into the temple of that worshipping with me."' Swiftly she turned the pages back. 'Where's that other place? Here! The man says to the heroine--to his ideal woman he says, "Behind you and above you rises the coming City of the World, and I am in that building. Dear heart! you are only happiness!" That's the whole view of man in a nutshell. Even the highest type of woman such an imagination as this can conjure up----' She shook her head. '"You are only happiness, dear"--a minister of pleasure, negligible in all the nobler moods, all the times of wider vision or exalted effort! Tell me'--she bent her head and looked into her companion's face with a new passion dawning in her eyes--'in the building of that City of the Future, in the making of it beautiful, shall women really have no share?'
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File: 0048_with-woman.png
Summary: young woman in a red dress with a necklace and a necklace with a pendant, looking to the side, with a blurred background of people and lights.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long blonde hair, wearing a red dress, standing in a bustling urban environment. The background is filled with various elements, including a blurred street with red and blue lights, suggesting a nighttime setting. The woman is positioned in the foreground, facing towards the camera, and her gaze is directed slightly downwards.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (Romola by George Eliot): Tessa had to pass through various long streets without seeing any other sign of the Carnival than unusual groups of the country people in their best garments, and that disposition in everybody to chat and loiter which marks the early hours of a holiday, before the spectacle has begun. Presently, in her disappointed search for remarkable objects, her eyes fell on a man with a pedlar’s basket before him, who seemed to be selling nothing but little red crosses to all the passengers. A little red cross would be pretty to hang up over her bed; it would also help to keep off harm, and would perhaps make Ninna stronger. Tessa went to the other side of the street that she might ask the pedlar the price of the crosses, fearing that they would cost a little too much for her to spare from her purchase of sweets. The pedlar’s back had been turned towards her hitherto, but when she came near him she recognised an old acquaintance of the Mercato, Bratti Ferravecchi, and, accustomed to feel that she was to avoid old acquaintances, she turned away again and passed to the other side of the street. But Bratti’s eye was too well practised in looking out at the corner after possible customers, for her movement to have escaped him, and she was presently arrested by a tap on the arm from one of the red crosses.
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File: 0049_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with curly hair is posing in a dark dress with a sequined bodice and a necklace
Caption: The image depicts a woman with short, curly hair, wearing a dark, sequined dress. The background is a vibrant mix of red and purple hues, creating a dramatic and eye-catching effect. The woman's gaze is directed to the right, and her expression is serious.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Wolf’s Head by Charles Egbert Craddock (AKA Mary Noailles Murfree)): Hence they were predisposed in the ministrant’s favor as she appeared, and were surprised to find that Meddlesome, instead of masterful and middle-aged, was a girl of eighteen, looking very shy and appealing as she paused on the verge of the flaring sumac copse, one hand lifted to a swaying bough, the other arm sustaining a basket. Even her coarse gown lent itself to pleasing effect, since its dull-brown hue composed well with the red and russet glow of the leaves about her, and its short waist, close sleeves, and scant skirt, reaching to the instep, the immemorial fashion of the hills, were less of a grotesque rusticity since there was prevalent elsewhere a vogue of quasi-Empire modes, of which the cut of her garb was reminiscent. A saffron kerchief about her throat had in its folds a necklace of over-cup acorns in three strands, and her hair, meekly parted on her forehead, was of a lustrous brown, and fell in heavy undulations on her shoulders. There was a delicate but distinct tracery of bine veins in her milky-white complexion, and she might have seemed eminently calculated for meddling disastrously with the peace of mind of the mountain youth were it not for the preoccupied expression of her eyes. Though large, brown and long-lashed, they were full of care and perplexity, and a frowning, disconcerted line between her eye-brows was so marked as almost to throw her face out of drawing. Troubled about many things, evidently, was Meddlesome. She could not even delegate the opening of a basket that her little brother had
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File: 0050_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with wings and a sword in a field at sunset
Caption: The image depicts a woman with large, white, feathered wings, standing in a field at sunset. She is dressed in a flowing, light-colored dress that contrasts with the warm hues of the sky. The woman is holding a sword in her right hand, which is positioned close to the camera, and is positioned in front of her, with the sword's blade pointing towards the sky.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (A Distinguished Provincial at Paris by Honore de Balzac): "This so much desired reputation is nearly always crowned prostitution. Yes; the poorest kind of literature is the hapless creature freezing at the street corner; second-rate literature is the kept-mistress picked out of the brothels of journalism, and I am her bully; lastly, there is lucky literature, the flaunting, insolent courtesan who has a house of her own and pays taxes, who receives great lords, treating or ill-treating them as she pleases, who has liveried servants and a carriage, and can afford to keep greedy creditors waiting. Ah! and for yet others, for me not so very long ago, for you to-day--she is a white-robed angel with many-colored wings, bearing a green palm branch in the one hand, and in the other a flaming sword. An angel, something akin to the mythological abstraction which lives at the bottom of a well, and to the poor and honest girl who lives a life of exile in the outskirts of the great city, earning every penny with a noble fortitude and in the full light of virtue, returning to heaven inviolate of body and soul; unless, indeed, she comes to lie at the last, soiled, despoiled, polluted, and forgotten, on a pauper's bier. As for the men whose brains are encompassed with bronze, whose hearts are still warm under the snows of experience, they are found but seldom in the country that lies at our feet," he added, pointing to the great city seething in the late afternoon light.
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File: 0051_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with a crown of flowers on her head is looking out of a window at a sunset
Caption: The image depicts a woman with a crown of white flowers on her head, positioned in front of a tree trunk. The background is a vibrant red, with a bright light source in the top right corner, creating a dramatic effect. The woman's face is turned to the side, and her expression is serious.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Siddhartha by Herman Hesse): At about noon, he came through a village. In front of the mud cottages, children were rolling about in the street, were playing with pumpkin-seeds and sea-shells, screamed and wrestled, but they all timidly fled from the unknown Samana. In the end of the village, the path led through a stream, and by the side of the stream, a young woman was kneeling and washing clothes. When Siddhartha greeted her, she lifted her head and looked up to him with a smile, so that he saw the white in her eyes glistening. He called out a blessing to her, as it is the custom among travellers, and asked how far he still had to go to reach the large city. Then she got up and came to him, beautifully her wet mouth was shimmering in her young face. She exchanged humorous banter with him, asked whether he had eaten already, and whether it was true that the Samanas slept alone in the forest at night and were not allowed to have any women with them. While talking, she put her left foot on his right one and made a movement as a woman does who would want to initiate that kind of sexual pleasure with a man, which the textbooks call "climbing a tree". Siddhartha felt his blood heating up, and since in this moment he had to think of his dream again, he bend slightly down to the woman and kissed with his lips the brown nipple of her breast. Looking up, he saw her face smiling full of lust and her eyes, with contracted pupils, begging with desire.
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File: 0052_with-woman.png
Summary: The image depicts a woman in a white dress with blue lights, standing in a dimly lit room with a glowing light in the background.
Caption: The image depicts a woman standing in a dimly lit room, illuminated by a multitude of glowing blue lights that emanate from her body. The woman is dressed in a long, flowing gown that is also adorned with glowing blue lights, giving her a mystical appearance.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (The Best Short Stories of 1921 and the Yearbook of the American Short Story by Various): In looking back after a year, I can recall every detail of that first meeting. Though it was barely four o'clock, the electric lamps were turned on in the hall, and I can still see the mellow light that shone over the staircase and lay in pools on the old pink rugs, which were so soft and fine that I felt as if I were walking on flowers. I remember the sound of music from a room somewhere on the first floor, and the scent of lilies and hyacinths that drifted from the conservatory. I remember it all, every note of music, every whiff of fragrance; but most vividly I remember Mrs. Vanderbridge as she looked round, when the door opened, from the wood fire into which she had been gazing. Her eyes caught me first. They were so wonderful that for a moment I couldn't see anything else; then I took in slowly the dark red of her hair, the clear pallor of her skin, and the long, flowing lines of her figure in a tea-gown of blue silk. There was a white bearskin rug under her feet, and while she stood there before the wood fire, she looked as if she had absorbed the beauty and colour of the house as a crystal vase absorbs the light. Only when she spoke to me, and I went nearer, did I detect the heaviness beneath her eyes and the nervous quiver of her mouth, which drooped a little at the corners. Tired and worn as she was, I never saw her afterwards--not even when she was dressed for the opera--look quite so lovely, so much like an exquisite flower, as she did on that first afternoon. When I knew her better, I discovered that
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File: 0053_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman wearing a headpiece of pink flowers and a dress with a sheer skirt and a long veil.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with a large, elaborate headdress that is composed of pink and white flowers, set against a backdrop of warm, glowing orange and pink lights. The woman is dressed in a dark, flowing dress that contrasts with the bright, colorful elements of the background.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (A Woman who went to Alaska by May Kellogg Sullivan): After a quiet Christmas greeting to those around me, I took my seat, and the dinner was then served. A bottle of wine was ordered by the host for me, and brought by the waiter, who placed it with a glass beside my plate. At each plate there had already been placed the same accompaniments to the dinner, with which great care had been taken by the two French cooks in the kitchen, and upon which no expense had been spared by the captain, who was host. While the waiters were serving the courses, and conversation around the table near me became quite general, on the aside I studied the company. It was cosmopolitan to the last degree. Opposite me sat the hostess (Mollie) with her little Jennie, dressed in their very best, the woman wearing a fashionable trained skirt, pink silk waist and diamond brooch, while the little child wore light tan cloth in city fashion, and looked very pretty. Below them sat the regular boarders at the hotel, hotel clerk, the bartender, miners, traders and the woman who kept the saloon. The latter appeared about thirty years of age, dark, petite and pretty, richly and becomingly gowned in garments which might have come along with her native tongue from Paris. On our side of the long table, and opposite this woman, sat the only other white woman besides myself present, and she, with her husband, the two neighbors who had given us our first sleigh ride behind the grey horse. On this side sat more miners and the few travelers who happened to be at the hotel at this time. The clerk, next his employer,
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File: 0054_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with long curly hair and a crown of flowers is standing in front of a glowing background
Caption: The image presents a surreal and intricate digital illustration of a woman with a crown on her head. The woman's hair is a swirling, ethereal blue and orange, with a pattern that resembles a celestial body. The crown she wears is a delicate, ornate piece with intricate designs that seem to be made of a glittering, iridescent material.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Destiny by Charles Neville Buck): She was tall, but not too tall, lithe and slim and sinuous as a mermaid, yet well enough rounded to make each delicate curve a charm, not merely of promise but of fulfilment. She wore a flowing morning-gown that made negligee seem to the suddenly intoxicated secretary the glorified costume for a woman. It was a richly embroidered thing from China and on her head was a crown of lace. Bristoll knew that its material name would be a boudoir cap, but on her head it became a crown--no, it was too filmy and ethereal for that: rather it was a sort of halo. Beneath it, and imprisoning pale fire in its amber softness, escaped a truant mass of curls. From the cap to the foamy whiteness of a lacy petticoat that peeped out just above the silk-clad ankles, she was exquisite. And all these things stamped themselves on young Carl Bristoll's brain as he bowed. Then he realized the delicate white-and-pink glow of her complexion and a marvelous pair of mismated eyes.
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File: 0055_with-woman.png
Summary: a young woman with long hair in a red dress with white flowers is looking at the camera
Caption: The image depicts a young woman with long, wavy hair, wearing a red shirt with white floral patterns. The background is a vibrant mix of red and blue lights, creating a dramatic and somewhat surreal atmosphere. The woman's expression is serious, and her gaze is directed towards the camera.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (In Paradise by Paul Heyse): singing, and patting her shoulders in time with the tune, up and down the room, so that the sparrows were frightened and fluttered out at the window. Then she stood still for a long while and looked at the casts and clay models around her on the walls; and seemed especially interested in the half-finished marble bust. It reminded her again of the stranger outside in the arbor, whose head sprung just so from his stately shoulders. Finally she tired of this also; and besides, she began to feel a little hungry. She found in the cupboard, behind her in the corner to which the sculptor had directed her, a few rolls and an opened bottle of red wine. There was all sorts of rubbish besides in the cupboard; a masquerader's costume, pieces of gold-stamped leather tapestry, of blue and red silk and brocade, with large flowers in their patterns, and a saint's halo, cut out of paper and painted with beautiful golden rays--that might have done service for a _tableau vivant_, or some other profane purpose. The idle girl seized upon this last, fastened it on her head with the two ribbons still attached to it, and went again before the looking-glass, where she smiled and made faces at her own reflection. Then she took a piece of blue damask out of the pile of things, and threw it like a cloak over her white shoulders. Her hair flowed freely over it, so that at a distance, when one did not see her uncovered neck, she looked like a mediaeval madonna, who had stepped out of her frame and had wandered into some merry
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File: 0056_with-woman.png
Summary: a young woman posing in a room with red lighting
Caption: The image depicts a young woman standing against a wall adorned with red and blue lights. She is wearing a white lace bra and has her hair styled in loose waves. The lighting in the image is dramatic, with the woman's face and upper body illuminated by the red and blue lights, creating a moody and romantic atmosphere.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (Tales of Fantasy and Fact by Brander Matthews): Once more the vision faded. And when, after the same interval, the darkness began to disappear again, even while everything was dim and indistinct I knew that the scene was shifted from the South to the North. I saw a room comfortably furnished, with a fire smouldering in a porcelain stove. In a corner stood a stripped Christmas-tree, with its candles burned out. Against the wall between the two doors was a piano, on which a man was playing--a man who twisted his head now and again to look over his shoulder, sometimes at another and younger man standing by the stove, sometimes at a young woman who was dancing alone in the centre of the room. This young woman had draped herself in a long parti-colored shawl and she held a tambourine in her hand. There was in her eyes a look of fear, as of one conscious of an impending misfortune. As I gazed she danced more and more wildly. The man standing by the porcelain stove was apparently making suggestions, to which she paid no heed. At last her hair broke loose and fell over her shoulders; and even this she did not notice, going on with her dancing as though it were a matter of life and death. Then one of the doors opened and another woman stood on the threshold. The man at the piano ceased playing and left the instrument. The dancer paused unwillingly, and looked pleadingly up into the face of the younger man as he came forward and put his arm around her.
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File: 0057_with-woman.png
Summary: young woman wearing orange off-shoulder top with black choker necklace, looking at the camera, with water droplets on her hair
Caption: The image depicts a young woman with long, wavy hair, wearing a red off-shoulder top. She is standing outdoors, with a blurred background that suggests a natural setting, possibly a park or garden. The woman's expression is serious, and her gaze is directed towards the camera.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue: All that day Mary did not come down, remaining at her window, from which she at least enjoyed a splendid view over the plains and village of Kinross; but this vast extent only contracted her heart the more, when, bringing her gaze back from the horizon to the castle, she beheld its walls surrounded on all sides by the deep waters of the lake, on whose wide surface a single boat, where Little Douglas was fishing, was rocking like a speck. For some moments Mary's eyes mechanically rested on this child, whom she had already seen upon her arrival, when suddenly a horn sounded from the Kinross side. At the same moment Little Douglas threw away his line, and began to row towards the shore whence the signal had come with skill and strength beyond his years. Mary, who had let her gaze rest on him absently, continued to follow him with her eyes, and saw him make for a spot on the shore so distant that the boat seemed to her at length but an imperceptible speck; but soon it reappeared, growing larger as it approached, and Mary could then observe that it was bringing back to the castle a new passenger, who, having in his turn taken the oars, made the little skiff fly over the tranquil water of the lake, where it left a furrow gleaming in the last rays of the sun. Very soon, flying on with the swiftness of a bird, it was near enough for Mary to see that the skilful and vigorous oarsman was a young man from twenty-five to twenty-six years of age, with long black hair, clad in a close coat of green cloth, and wearing a Highlander's cap,
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File: 0058_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman in a white dress with a lace bodice and a long flowing skirt stands in a darkened room with a glowing, ethereal atmosphere.
Caption: The image depicts a woman standing in a dark, misty environment, surrounded by a multitude of glowing, orange and blue particles. The woman is dressed in a white dress with intricate lace details, and her hair is adorned with a large, ornate headpiece. The particles surrounding her appear to be floating in the air, creating a sense of depth and movement.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue: We were treated with great courtesy and hospitality by our Portuguese neighbors, and an evening party in Fayal is in some respects worth describing. As one enters, the anteroom is crowded with gentlemen, and the chief reception-room seems like a large omnibus, lighted, dressed with flowers, and having a row of ladies on each side. The personal beauty is perhaps less than one expects, though one sees some superb dark eyes and blue-black hair; they dress with a view to the latest French fashions, and sometimes rather a distant view. At last a lady takes her seat at the piano, then comes an eager rush of gentlemen into the room, and partners are taken for cotillons,--large, double, _very_ double cotillons, here called _contradanças_. The gentlemen appear in scrupulous black broadcloth and satin and white kid; in summer alone they are permitted to wear white trousers to parties; and we heard of one anxious youth who, about the turn of the season, wore the black and carried the white in his pocket, peeping through the door, on arrival, to see which had the majority. It seemed a pity to waste such gifts of discretion on a monarchical country, when he might have emigrated to America and applied them to politics.
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File: 0059_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with long blonde hair is posing in a red sequined dress with a choker necklace. she is looking directly at the camera with a serious expression.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long, wavy blonde hair, wearing a sparkling, sequined dress. The dress is detailed with intricate patterns and has a plunging neckline. The woman is positioned in front of a vibrant, red and blue background, which is illuminated by a spotlight.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue: In a detailed and well-documented thesis, Alwin Schultz describes the characteristics of the beautiful woman as she appealed to the German authors of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. She must be of medium height and slender. Her hair must be fair, like gold; long, bright, and curly; a man's must only reach to his shoulders. Dark hair is seldom mentioned and was not admired. The parting of the hair must be white, but not too broad. The forehead must be white and bright and rounded, without wrinkles. The eyebrows must be darker than the hair, arched, and not too broad, as though drawn with a pencil, the space between them not too broad. The eyes must be bright, clear, and sparkling, not too large or too small; nothing definite was said of the color, but they were evidently usually blue. The nose must be of medium size, straight, and not curved. The cheeks must be white, tinged with red; if the red was absent by nature women used rouge. The mouth must be small; the lips full and red. The teeth must be small, white, and even. The chin must be white, rounded, lovable, dimpled; the ears small and beautiful; the neck of medium size, soft, white, and spotless; the arm small; the hands and fingers long; the joints small, the nails white and bright and well cared for. The bosom must be white and large; the breasts high and rounded, like apples or pears, small and soft. The body generally must be slender and active. The lower parts of the body are very seldom mentioned, and many poets are even too modest to mention
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File: 0060_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman in a red dress standing in a forest at sunset
Caption: The image depicts a young woman standing in a forest, her back turned to the camera, with a serene and peaceful atmosphere. She is wearing a strapless, pink dress that is adorned with ruffles at the bottom. The background is filled with vibrant orange and red hues, creating a warm and inviting ambiance.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (Quincy Adams Sawyer and Mason's Corner Folks by Charles Felton Pidgin): They soon reached Mrs. Gibson's and were shown directly to the young ladies' parlor and library, for it answered both purposes. They were attired in two creations of Mrs. Chessman's dressmaker, Aunt Ella having selected the materials and designed the costumes, for which art she had a great talent. Rosa's dress was of a dark rose tint, with revers and a V-shaped neck, filled in with tulle of a dark green hue. The only other trimming on the dress was a green silk cord that bordered the edges of the revers and the bottom of the waist. As Quincy looked at her, for she sat nearest to the door, she reminded him of a beautiful red rose, and the green leaves which enhanced its beauty. Then his eyes turned quickly to Alice, who sat in her easy-chair, near the window. Her dress was of light blue, with square-cut neck, filled in with creamy white lace. In her hair nestled a flower, light pink in color, and as Quincy looked at her he thought of the little blue flower called forget-me-not, and recalled the fact that wandering one day in the country, during his last year at college, he had come upon a little brook, both sides of which, for hundreds of feet, were lined with masses of this modest little flower. Ah! but this one forget-me-not was more to him than all the world beside.
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File: 0061_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with long hair in a white tank top and black pants is standing in front of a door with red and blue lights
Caption: The image depicts a woman standing in front of a door, illuminated by two vertical red and blue light strips. The woman is positioned centrally in the frame, with her back to the viewer. She is wearing a white tank top and a black skirt, and her hair is flowing in the wind.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (The Crime of the Century by Henry M. Hunt): From a long recital of her domestic misery, Mrs. Hoertel went on to tell, how on the night of the murder she had started out to find her husband, who, as usual, was away from home. After going some distance her heart failed her, and she started to return. As she entered North Ashland avenue from Cornelia street, she saw a white horse attached to a top-buggy, coming toward her at a lively pace from the direction of the city. There were two men in the vehicle, and the horse was brought to a full stop immediately in front of the Carlson cottage. A tall man, with a black satchel or box in his left hand, jumped from the vehicle, and, after reaching out his arm toward the buggy as if to take something, crossed over the sidewalk toward the steps. Mrs. Hoertel was at this time on the same side of the street and walking in the direction of the cottage. As soon as the man had gotten out of the vehicle, his companion lashed the white horse into a gallop, and started back toward the town. The tall man walked briskly up the long flight of stairs, and, upon reaching the threshold of the cottage, the door was opened by somebody within. A bright light was burning in the front room of the building, and when the door was opened its reflection was seen on the steps. Mrs. Hoertel reached the front of the cottage just as the door closed. An instant later she heard some one cry in a loud voice, "Oh, God!" Then there was a noise that sounded like a blow, followed by a heavy fall, and again the now frightened woman heard the exclamation, "Jesus!"
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File: 0062_with-woman.png
Summary: woman posing in front of a sunset with string lights.
Caption: The image depicts a woman standing outdoors at sunset, with her hair blowing in the wind. She is wearing a light pink top and has a necklace with string lights around her neck. The background is a serene beach scene with the ocean and a distant shoreline.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (Famous Modern Ghost Stories by Various): You get awful lazy in a lighthouse, some ways. No matter how much tinkering you've got, there's still a lot of time and there's such a thing as too much reading. The changes in weather get monotonous, too, by and by; the light burns the same on a thick night as it does on a fair one. Of course there's the ships, north-bound, south-bound--wind-jammers, freighters, passenger-boats full of people. In the watches at night you can see their lights go by, and wonder what they are, how they're laden, where they'll fetch up, and all. I used to do that almost every evening when it was my first watch, sitting out on the walk-around up there with my legs hanging over the edge and my chin propped on the railing--lazy. The Boston boat was the prettiest to see, with her three tiers of port-holes lit, like a string of pearls wrapped round and round a woman's neck--well away, too, for the ledge must have made a couple of hundred fathoms off the Light, like a white dog-tooth of a breaker, even on the darkest night.
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File: 0063_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with a large bouquet of white flowers in her hand, wearing a blue dress with gold embroidery, is standing in front of a dark background with orange and red flames.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with a vibrant, fiery hairstyle, adorned in a blue dress with intricate gold embroidery. The background is a dark, textured pattern that contrasts with the bright colors of the woman's attire. The woman's hair is a mix of orange and yellow, and she is holding a bouquet of white flowers.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Letters of a Diplomat's Wife by Mary King Waddington): I am glad to have a day of rest, Dear. I didn't even get up for church. The standing at the dressmaker's is something awful. Yesterday I tried 12 dresses (finished), 6 at Delannoy's before breakfast, and 6 at Philippe's afterwards. They are all handsome--I think the Court dresses will be handsome. The principal one for the day of the Coronation is sapphire blue satin embroidered all round the train (3 metres long), with a beautiful wreath of flowers in chenille, and silk, and gold and silver leaves; very showy, in fact rather clinquant (not at all like me), but they said I must have "des toilettes a effet qui seraient remarquees." The under-dress is salmon pink satin, the front all covered with flowers to match the embroidery. I shall wear blue feathers (short ones) in my hair. I am happy to say that the regulation white waving plumes of the English Court are not de rigueur in Russia. The other train is a pale pink satin with raised dark red flowers and velvet leaves, all the front my old point de Venise flounces which look handsome. I suppose I shall take about 18 dresses in all.
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File: 0064_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman is standing on a beach at night with string lights around her. she is looking at the camera
Caption: The image depicts a woman standing on a beach at sunset, with her back to the camera. She is wearing a white lace dress and has her hair flowing in the wind. The woman is adorned with a string of lights around her waist, which are lit up in hues of orange and yellow, casting a warm glow on her face and the surrounding area.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (The Genius by Margaret Horton Potter): It was eleven o'clock on that night of nights; and the bed and dressing rooms of the Princess Sophia were lighted to suffocation with smoking candles. Two maids and old Masha, general factotum of her mistress, were bustling importantly from one room to the other, bearing to her, piece by piece, their mistress's burden of jewels. At her dressing-table, pale, still wearing, as always in public, her mask of emotionless impenetrability, sat Sophia. Her neck and shoulders, which, according to the rigid etiquette of court-dress, were fully exposed, were white, and, considering her extreme slenderness, surprisingly round. A broad collar of sapphires and diamonds clasped above an Oriental necklace of pearls, successfully hid whatever there was to betray the too-visible marks of the "certain" age. On her head she bore the oddly becoming kakoshnik, which, in her case, was set with a triple row of superb diamonds. The face below this gleaming structure, the delicate, weary face, robbed of its customary frame of smoothly banded yellow hair, looked more sharply pointed than usual, but surprisingly pretty. For there was actually a fire--whether of pleasure, expectancy or nervousness--in her gray eyes; and there had come a delicate flush to the usually pallid cheeks. Sophia was, indeed, living with her dead to-night. Dreams of the old days held her in a kind of spell. The woman of memories--memories of a brief youth, a swiftly blighted flowering of life--had for once been forced back to a forgotten theme. And she found, recalling the days of her
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File: 0065_with-woman.png
Summary: woman in bikini sitting on the beach with her hair blowing in the wind.
Caption: The image depicts a woman sitting on a rock, wearing an orange bikini. She is positioned in front of a body of water, possibly a lake or a river, with a blurred background that suggests a serene and natural setting. The woman is looking directly at the camera, and her attire is a vibrant orange bikini with a floral pattern.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (The Ninth Vibration And Other Stories by L. Adams Beck): I will say then, for the alphabet of what I knew but cannot tell, that she had the low broad brows of a Greek Nature Goddess, the hair swept back wing-like from the temples and massed with a noble luxuriance. It lay like rippled bronze, suggesting something strong and serene in its essence. Her eyes were clear and gray as water, the mouth sweetly curved above a resolute chin. It was a face which recalled a modelling in marble rather than the charming pastel and aquarelle of a young woman’s colouring, and somehow I thought of it less as the beauty of a woman than as some sexless emanation of natural things, and this impression was strengthened by her height and the long limbs, slender and strong as those of some youth trained in the pentathlon, subject to the severest discipline until all that was superfluous was fined away and the perfect form expressing the true being emerged. The body was thus more beautiful than the face, and I may note in passing that this is often the case, because the face is more directly the index of the restless and unhappy soul within and can attain true beauty only when the soul is in harmony with its source.
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File: 0066_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with blonde hair and a white scarf is looking down with a serious expression.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with blonde hair, wearing a white headscarf. The woman's face is partially obscured by the headscarf, which is positioned over her head, covering her eyes and part of her face.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 16, No. 93, July, 1865 by Various): Grace and refinement, rather than beauty, distinguish the Empress, though her eyes and hair deserve the latter epithet. She is an invalid, and appears pale and somewhat worn; but there is no finer group of children in Europe than those to whom she has given birth. Six sons and one daughter are her jewels; and of these, the third son, Vladimir, is almost ideally handsome. Her dress was at once simple and superb,--a cloud of snowy _tulle_, with a scarf of pale-blue velvet, twisted with a chain of the largest diamonds and tied with a knot and tassel of pearls, resting halfway down the skirt, as if it had slipped from her waist. On another occasion, I remember her wearing a crown of five stars, the centres of which were single enormous rubies and the rays of diamonds, so set on invisible wires that they burned in the air over her head. The splendor which was a part of her _role_ was always made subordinate to rigid taste, and herein prominently distinguished her from many of the Russian ladies, who carried great fortunes upon their heads, necks, and bosoms. I had several opportunities of conversing with her, generally upon Art and Literature, and was glad to find that she had both read and thought, as well as seen. You may tell the honored author of "Evangeline" that he numbers her among his appreciative readers.
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File: 0067_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman wearing a crown and earrings with a green background
Caption: The image depicts a woman with a golden crown on her head, which is adorned with a flower-like design. She is wearing a necklace with a pendant that resembles a flower, and her hair is styled in a bun. The background is a gradient of green and blue, creating a sense of depth and depth.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (Doctor Pascal by Emile Zola): Up to the middle of May Pascal and Clotilde secluded themselves in this way, without even crossing the threshold of their retreat. One morning he disappeared and returned an hour later, bringing her a pair of diamond earrings which he had hurried out to buy, remembering this was her birthday. She adored jewels, and the gift astonished and delighted her. From this time not a week passed in which he did not go out once or twice in this way to bring her back some present. The slightest excuse was sufficient for him--a _fete_, a wish, a simple pleasure. He brought her rings, bracelets, a necklace, a slender diadem. He would take out the other jewels and please himself by putting them all upon her in the midst of their laughter. She was like an idol, seated on her chair, covered with gold,--a band of gold on her hair, gold on her bare arms and on her bare throat, all shining with gold and precious stones. Her woman's vanity was delightfully gratified by this. She allowed herself to be adored thus, to be adored on bended knees, like a divinity, knowing well that this was only an exalted form of love. She began at last to scold a little, however; to make prudent remonstrances; for, in truth, it was an absurdity to bring her all these gifts which she must afterward shut up in a drawer, without ever wearing them, as she went nowhere.
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File: 0068_with-woman.png
Summary: woman in a gray coat with a crown of flowers on her head.
Caption: The image depicts a woman standing in a field, wearing a gray outfit with a high collar. She is facing the camera with a serious expression, and her hair is styled in a bun. The background is a blurred field with a few figures in the distance, suggesting a rural or semi-rural setting.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (Atlantic Narratives by Unknown): I sat behind her in the little country church; and when I had studied her profile for a few moments, I was glad of a chance to rise and sing the Doxology. She was a woman of fifty-odd, a typical Vermonter, with the angular frame and features peculiar to her class. Her mouth was large, her cheek-bones high; her thin, dark hair, streaked with gray, was drawn smoothly down behind her ears. But her expression!--that gave her away. Not flagrantly, of course. To discover her one had to be temperamentally on the watch for her. Apparently, like all the rest of us, she was looking at the flowers before the pulpit; but I was sure that her wide blue eyes were really intent on something behind and beyond. Her mouth brooded, her forehead dreamed, her whole face pondered grave and delectable matters. I am afraid that I did not hear much of the sermon that morning.
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File: 0069_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman in a red dress sits on the ground in a desert with a mountain in the background.
Caption: The image depicts a woman dressed in a red dress, sitting on a rock in a desert landscape. The woman is positioned in the center of the image, with her back to the viewer, and her head is tilted slightly to the right. She has long brown hair and is wearing a necklace with a pendant.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Recreations of Christopher North, Volume I (of 2) by John Wilson): be equally attentive to the proceedings of all the objects under her control. Accordingly, often when she is not looking, what more common than for a huge hulking fellow of a rock, with an absurd tuft of trees on his head, who has observed you lying half-asleep on the greensward, to hang eavesdropping, as it were, over your most secret thoughts, which he whispers to the winds, and they to all the clouds! Or for some grotesque and fantastic ash, with a crooked back, and arms disproportionately long, like a giant in extreme old age dwindling into a dwarf, to jut out from the hole in the wall, and should your leaden eye chance at the time to love the ground, to put his mossy fist right in your philosophical countenance! In short, it is very possible to know a country so thoroughly well, outside and in, from mountain to mole-hill, that you get mutually tired of one another's company, and are ready to vent your quarrel in reciprocal imprecations.
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File: 0070_with-woman.png
Summary: a young woman with a colorful headband and a necklace is standing in a field with a cloudy sky in the background.
Caption: The image depicts a young woman with dark hair, wearing a colorful headscarf and a patterned dress. The background is blurred, suggesting an outdoor setting, possibly a field or a natural landscape. The woman's expression is serious, and her gaze is directed towards the camera.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue: Once, with the aid of the girls of the hotel, she arrayed herself in the garments of a Japanese lady of position with her hair dressed in the shiny black helmet-shape, and her waist encased in the broad, tight _obi_ or sash, which after all was no more uncomfortable than a corset. Thus attired she came down to dinner one evening, trotting behind her husband as a well-trained Japanese wife should do. In foreign dress she appeared _petite_ and exotic, but one would have hesitated to name the land of her birth. It was a shock to Geoffrey to see her again in her native costume. In Europe, it had been a distinction, but here, in Japan, it was like a sudden fading into the landscape. He had never realised quite how entirely his wife was one of these people. The short stature and the shuffling gait, the tiny delicate hands, the grooved slit of the eyelids, and the oval of the face were pure Japanese. The only incongruous elements were the white ivory skin which, however, is a beauty not unknown among home-reared Japanese women also, and, above all, the expression which looked out of the dancing eyes and the red mouth ripe for kisses, an expression of freedom, happiness, and natural high spirits, which is not to be seen in a land where the women are hardly free, never natural, and seldom happy. The Japanese woman's face develops a compressed look which leaves the features a mere mask, and acquires very often a furtive glance, as of a sharp-fanged animal half-tamed by fear, something weasel-like or vixenish.
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File: 0071_with-woman.png
Summary: young woman with long hair, looking at the camera, wearing a red dress, in a room with orange light.
Caption: The image depicts a young woman with long, wavy hair, wearing a red floral dress. She is standing in front of a wall adorned with a warm orange glow, which is illuminated by a string of lights. The woman's expression is serious, and her gaze is directed towards the camera.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (A House Party with the Tucker Twins by Nell Speed): "After being clothed in the wedding gown, Elizabeth had sent the women from her room on a plea that she must be alone to pray. She locked the door the moment they were gone and rushed to the window which was open, it being a warm moonlight night. Standing below the window was the lover. He called up to her to come down to him. The ivy was thick on the wall, as it is now, and for an agile young girl I fancy it was not such a very difficult climb. It must have taken a brave soul though to make the start. Many a time in my youth," and here Miss Maria blushed as red as one of the tomatoes she was peeling, "I have sat in that window, it is the room you are occupying, and tried how it would seem to climb down that wall. I have never done more than poke my foot out about an inch, though. Perhaps if the lover had been calling to me, it might have given me courage. Elizabeth got about half-way down when her long satin dress and veil got caught on a nail or snag of some sort, and no matter how she pulled she could not get loose. Just think of it! There the poor girl hung, with her lover frantically calling to her and the precious moments flying. Already they were knocking on the door of her chamber and crying out for admission. His steed was ready to fly with her if only she could get the gown loose. Material in those days was stouter than now. I'll wager anything that a piece of white satin could not be found now that would not tear, or any other material, for that matter."
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File: 0072_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with long hair is looking at the moon in a dark room
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long, wavy hair, wearing a lace bra, standing in front of a full moon. The woman's expression is serious, and she is looking directly at the camera. The background is dark, with a glowing blue hue that contrasts with the moon's light.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Paris: With Pen and Pencil by David W. Bartlett): But I confess that I was attracted to the Place de la Concorde more by the historical associations connected with it, than by its present magnificence. Leaning upon the parapet of the bridge and looking down upon the Seine, a pleasant July morning was present to my imagination, and a crowd was gathered upon the place to witness an execution. The slight form of a beautiful woman passes up yonder winding steps to the block. Her hair is dark--not so dark, though, as her genius-lighted eyes -and her forehead is white and nobly pure. She kneels, bows down her head to the block, and is forever dead. It was Charlotte Corday, the enthusiast, who assassinated Marat in his bath. I have seen the place where she killed him--have looked at the very threshold where she waited so long before she gained admittance. The house is standing yet, and the room where Marat lay in his bath writing--where he looked up from his manuscript at Charlotte Corday and promised death to some of her dearest friends in a provincial town--where she plunged her dagger to the center of his black heart!
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File: 0073_with-woman.png
Summary: woman in a purple dress with a necklace and earrings, looking to the side with her hand on her chin, in a dimly lit room with a green hue
Caption: The image depicts a woman with curly hair, wearing a purple dress with a floral pattern. She is positioned in a close-up shot, with her face and upper body prominently displayed. The background is dark, creating a contrast that highlights the woman's features.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (The Land of The Blessed Virgin; Sketches and Impressions in Andalusia by William Somerset Maugham): I walked away, and came presently to the most cruel of all these images. It was a _Piet_. The Mother held on her knees the dead Son, looking in His face, and it was a ghastly contrast between her royal array and His naked body. She, too, wore the imperial crown, with its golden aureole, and her cloak was of damask embroidered with heavy gold. Her hair fell in curling abundance about her breast, and the sacristan told me it was the hair of a lady who had lost her husband and her only son. But the dead Christ was terrible, His face half hidden by the long straight hair, long as a woman's, and His body thin and all discoloured: from the wounds thick blood poured out, and their edges were swollen and red; the broken knees, the feet and hands, were purple and green with the beginning of putrefaction.
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File: 0074_with-woman.png
Summary: young woman with blonde hair, wearing a white tank top, looking at the camera, with a blue background.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with blonde hair, wearing a white tank top, set against a blurred background. The woman's hair is styled in loose waves, and she has a neutral expression. The background is a gradient of blue and green, creating a soft and dreamy atmosphere.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Imaginary Interviews by W. D. Howells): "Ah, there you are!" he of the Easy Chair exclaimed; but he could not help a forgiving laugh. "In a way you are right. The world belongs to youth, and so it ought to be the best thing for itself in it. Youth is a very curious thing, and in that it is like spring, especially like the spring we have just been having, to our cost. It is the only period of life, as spring is the only season of the year, that has too much time on its hands. Yet it does not seem to waste time, as age does, as winter does; it keeps doing something all the while. The things it does are apparently very futile and superfluous, some of them, but in the end something has been accomplished. After a March of whimsical suns and snows, an April of quite fantastical frosts and thaws, and a May, at least partially, of cold mists and parching winds, the flowers, which the florists have been forcing for the purpose, are blooming in the park; the grass is green wherever it has not had the roots trodden out of it, and a filmy foliage, like the soft foulard tissues which the young girls are wearing, drips from the trees. You can say it is all very painty, the verdure; too painty; but you cannot reject the picture because of this little mannerism of the painter. To be sure, you miss the sheeted snows and the dreamy weft of leafless twigs against the hard, blue sky. Still, now it has come, you cannot deny that the spring is pretty, or that the fashionable colors which it has introduced are charming. It is said that these are so charming that a woman of the
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File: 0075_with-woman.png
Summary: woman in red dress sitting on a chair with a bridge in the background.
Caption: The image depicts a woman seated on a chair, dressed in a vibrant red outfit adorned with intricate patterns and embellishments. She is wearing a black hat and a necklace, adding to her elaborate appearance. The background of the image is blurred, suggesting a nighttime setting with illuminated lights, possibly a bridge or a waterfront.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (She by H. Rider Haggard): Then came a pause, and the most intense silence reigned over the whole scene, which, illuminated as it was by the flicker of the lamps striking out broad patterns of light and shadow upon the rocky walls, was as strange as any I ever saw, even in that unholy land. Upon the ground before the daïs were stretched scores of the corpselike forms of the spectators, till at last the long lines of them were lost in the gloomy background. Before this outstretched audience were the knots of evil-doers, trying to cover up their natural terrors with a brave appearance of unconcern. On the right and left stood the silent guards, robed in white and armed with great spears and daggers, and men and women mutes watching with hard curious eyes. Then, seated in her barbaric chair above them all, with myself at her feet, was the veiled white woman, whose loveliness and awesome power seemed to visibly shine about her like a halo, or rather like the glow from some unseen light. Never have I seen her veiled shape look more terrible than it did in that space, while she gathered herself up for vengeance.
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File: 0076_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman wearing a hat and a dress with a lace collar and a floral pattern.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long, wavy blonde hair, wearing a black hat adorned with a large, fluffy feather. She is dressed in a traditional dress with a floral pattern and a lace collar. The background is a blurred landscape with a hint of greenery, suggesting an outdoor setting.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (The Count's Millions by Emile Gaboriau): M. de Coralth was very young and remarkably good-looking, almost too good-looking, indeed; for his handsomeness was somewhat startling and unnatural. He had an exceedingly fair complexion, and large, melting black eyes, while a woman might have envied him his wavy brown hair and the exquisite delicacy of his skin. He dressed with great care and taste, and even coquettishly; his turn-down collar left his firm white throat uncovered, and his rose-tinted gloves fitted as perfectly as the skin upon his soft, delicate hands. He bowed familiarly on entering, and with a rather complacent smile on his lips, he approached Madame d'Argeles, who, half reclining in an easy chair near the fire-place, was conversing with two elderly gentlemen of grave and distinguished bearing. "How late you are, viscount," she remarked carelessly. "What have you been doing to-day? I fancied I saw you in the Bois, in the Marquis de Valorsay's dog-cart."
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File: 0077_with-woman.png
Summary: a young woman wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a colorful floral shirt is looking out at the sunset.
Caption: The image presents a serene scene of a woman, adorned in a vibrant floral shirt, donned with a straw hat, and gazing into the distance with a serene expression. The backdrop is a picturesque landscape bathed in soft, warm light, suggesting a tranquil setting.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 17, No. 101, March, 1866 by Various): We sat for a long time gazing with silent astonishment upon this delightful little toy village, that looked almost as if it had been made at Nuremberg, and could be picked up and put away when not wanted to play with. It was a bright, still afternoon. The purple light of sunset gave an additional charm of color to the scene. Suddenly the _lumen juvent purpureum_, the purple light of youth, broke upon it. Handsome, well-dressed girls, with a few polygynic young men in the usual island proportion of the sexes, came out of the cottages, and stood in the lanes talking and laughing, or walked to the edge of the bluff to see the sun go down. We rubbed our eyes. Was this real, or were we looking into some showman's box? It seemed like the Petit Trianon adapted to an island in the Atlantic, with Louis XV. and his marquises playing at fishing instead of farming.
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File: 0078_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman wearing a cowboy hat and a red floral dress with a large moon behind her
Caption: The image depicts a woman standing in front of a large, glowing sun. She is wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a colorful dress adorned with blue and green beads. The sun, which is the central focus of the image, is depicted as a bright orange orb with a fiery glow.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that brilliance often burns those closest to it.
Monologue (The Dop Doctor by Clotilde Inez Mary Graves): She had her share of girlish vanity. She had put on a plain tailor-made skirt of fine dark green cloth, short enough to show the dainty little brown buckled shoes that she specially affected, and a thin white silk shirt and knitted croquet-jacket of white wool. A scarlet leather belt girt her slender waist, and a silver chtelaine jingled a gay tune at her side, and about her white slim throat was a band of scarlet velvet, and her wide-brimmed straw hat had a knot of purple and white clematis in it, and a broad, vivid, emerald-green wing-quill thrust under the knot. And the hair under the green-plumed hat gleamed bronze in the sunshine that filtered through the thick foliage of the blue gum-trees that grew on either bank of the river, and stretched their branches out to clasp across the stream, like hands. She was too pale and too thin, and her eyes were feverishly bright, but she looked happy, carrying her tray of steaming teacups in spite of Beauvayse's anxious attempts to relieve her of the burden, and the Chaplain's diffident entreaties that she should entrust it to him. Their voices, mingled in gay argument, were borne by a warm puff of spice-scented air to the ears of the elder people, standing in the shade of the trees at the summit of the high, sloping bank, with the rusty perambulator between them.
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File: 0079_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman wearing a hat and a dress with a large sun in the background.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long, curly hair, wearing a large, ornate hat adorned with intricate lace and floral patterns. The woman is facing to the right, with her gaze directed towards the left side of the image. She is dressed in a flowing, dark blue dress with intricate patterns and a necklace with a pendant.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (The Bishop's Secret by Fergus Hume): Gabriel and his mother were not long left alone, for shortly there approached a brisk old lady, daintily dressed, who looked like a fairy godmother. She had a keen face, bright eyes like those of a squirrel, and in gesture and walk and glance was as restless as that animal. This piece of alacrity was Miss Whichello, who was the aunt of Mab Arden, the beloved of George Pendle. Mab was with her, and, gracious and tall, looked as majestic as any queen, as she paced in her stately manner by the old lady's side. Her beauty was that of Juno, for she was imperial and a trifle haughty in her manner. With dark hair, dark eyes, and dark complexion, she looked like an Oriental princess, quite different in appearance to her apple-cheeked, silvery-haired aunt. There was something Jewish about her rich, eastern beauty, and she might have been painted in her yellow dress as Esther or Rebecca, or even as Jael who slew Sisera on the going down of the sun.
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File: 0080_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman wearing a cowboy hat and a dress with lace details is standing in front of a sunset.
Caption: The image depicts a woman standing in a field, wearing a cowboy hat and a white dress with intricate lace details. The background is a vibrant sunset, with the sun setting behind her, casting a warm glow over the scene. The woman's gaze is directed towards the right side of the image, suggesting she is looking at something or someone off-camera.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (The Abbess Of Vlaye by Stanley J. Weyman): A more picturesque or more gallant company, as they swept by threes and fours into sight between the two grey pillars and rode towards the house under sun and shade, or a band that moved with a lordlier air, it had been hard to find, even in those days of show and pageantry, when men wore their fortunes on their backs. The Captain of Vlaye, stooping his sinewy figure to his companion, well became a horse that moved as he moved, and caracoled because he allowed it. His dark, keen face would have been as handsome as his form but for a blemish. In some skirmish of his youth he had lost the sight of an eye, and the blind orb gave his face a hard look which, so his enemies said, brought it into consonance with his character. He wore upturned moustaches without a beard, therein departing from the mode of the day. But his hunting-dress of white doeskin, with a fawn hat and belt, was in the fashion, and his horse's trappings shone almost as fine as the riding-dress of green and silver which set off his companion's tall figure and haughty face. In first youth a nose, too like her father's, and something over large in Odette de Villeneuve's frame, had foreshadowed charms not of the most feminine or the first order. But three years had supplied the carriage and the ripened and fuller contours that made her what she now was. To-day, if it pleased her to have at her beck one whose will was law, and whose stern manners invited few to intimacy--and in truth her infatuation for the successful adventurer knew no limits--he on his side found his account
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File: 0081_with-woman.png
Summary: The painting depicts a woman in a red dress with gold embroidery, wearing a necklace and earrings, and standing against a brown background.
Caption: The image depicts a portrait of a woman with voluminous curly hair, wearing a red dress adorned with gold embroidery. The dress is detailed with puffed sleeves and a high neckline, adding to the ornate appearance of the attire. The woman's face is turned slightly to the right, giving a sense of depth to the portrait.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (The Cruise of the Nonsuch Buccaneer by Harry Collingwood): Mrs Saint Leger was a small, somewhat delicate and fragile-looking woman, just turned forty-six years of age, yet, although people seemed to age a great deal more quickly in those days than in these, and although, as the widow of one sailor and the mother of two others, she had known much anxiety and mental stress, she retained her youthful appearance to a degree that was a constant source of wonder to her many friends. Her form was still as girlish as when Hugh Saint Leger proudly led her to the altar twenty-eight years before we make her acquaintance. Her cheeks were still smooth and round, her violet eyes, deep and tender, were still bright despite the many tears which anxiety for her husband and sons had caused her to shed, and which her bitter grief had evoked when, some seven years earlier, the news had been brought to her of her husband's death while gallantly defending his ship against an attack by Salee pirates. Her golden-brown hair was still richly luxuriant, and only the most rigorous search would have revealed the presence of a silver thread here and there. And lastly, she stood just five feet four inches in her high-heeled shoes, and--in honour of her younger son's safe arrival home--was garbed, in the height of the prevailing mode, in a gown of brown velvet that exactly matched the colour of her hair, with long pointed bodice heavily embroidered with gold thread, voluminous farthingale, long puffed sleeves, ruffed lace collar, lace stomacher, and lace ruffles at her dainty wrists.
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File: 0082_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman wearing a cowboy hat and a pink crop top with floral patterns and a necklace with a pendant
Caption: The image depicts a woman standing in front of a backdrop of a colorful, illuminated cityscape. She is wearing a pink cowboy hat and a pink crop top adorned with floral patterns. The woman is also wearing a necklace with a pendant and has long, wavy hair.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (The Crown of Wild Olive by John Ruskin): 186. The Venus Urania of the Greeks, in her relation to men, has power only over lawful and domestic love; therefore, she is fully dressed, and not only quite dressed, but most daintily and trimly: her feet delicately sandalled, her gown spotted with little stars, her hair brushed exquisitely smooth at the top of her head, trickling in minute waves down her forehead; and though, because there's such a quantity of it, she can't possibly help having a chignon, look how tightly she has fastened it in with her broad fillet. Of course she is married, so she must wear a cap with pretty minute pendant jewels at the border; and a very small necklace, all that her husband can properly afford, just enough to go closely round the neck, and no more. On the contrary, the Aphrodite of the Italian, being universal love, is pure-naked; and her long hair is thrown wild to the wind and sea.
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File: 0083_with-woman.png
Summary: The statue of a woman with a curly hairstyle and a beige dress is displayed in a studio.
Caption: The image depicts a woman standing against a plain, neutral background. She is dressed in a beige, loose-fitting gown that drapes elegantly around her body. The gown is adorned with a sash that is tied at the waist, adding a touch of formality to her attire.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (Ursula by Honore de Balzac): In giving her arm to her godfather, Ursula was obliged to hold her prayer-book in one hand and her parasol in the other; and this she did with the innate grace which graceful women put into the awkward or difficult things of their charming craft of womanhood. If mind does truly reveal itself in all things, we may be permitted to say that Ursula's attitude and bearing suggested divine simplicity. She was dressed in a white cambric gown made like a wrapper, trimmed here and there with knots of blue ribbon. The pelerine, edged with the same ribbon run through a broad hem and tied with bows like those on the dress, showed the great beauty of her shape. Her throat, of a pure white, was charming in tone against the blue,--the right color for a fair skin. A long blue sash with floating ends defined a slender waist which seemed flexible,--a most seductive charm in women. She wore a rice-straw bonnet, modestly trimmed with ribbons like those of the gown, the strings of which were tied under her chin, setting off the whiteness of the straw and doing no despite to that of her beautiful complexion. Ursula dressed her own hair naturally (a la Berthe, as it was then called) in heavy braids of fine, fair hair, laid flat on either side of the head, each little strand reflecting the light as she walked. Her gray eyes, soft and proud at the same time, were in harmony with a finely modeled brow. A rosy tinge, suffusing her cheeks like a cloud, brightened a face which was regular without being insipid; for nature had given her, by some rare privilege, extreme
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File: 0084_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman wearing a large hat with a glittery brim and a dress with lace details is posing in front of a pink background
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long, wavy blonde hair, wearing a large, glittery hat that is predominantly green. The hat is adorned with a lace collar and a wide brim, giving it a whimsical and festive appearance. The woman's face is turned to the side, and her eyes are directed towards the camera, giving the impression of a serious or contemplative expression.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (A Duel by Richard Marsh): During the last few seconds, for some occult reason, a change had taken place in her which had apparently revolutionised the whole woman externally as well as internally; her bearing, her manner, her voice, and especially her face, had changed. The alteration in the latter was nothing short of amazing. Just now its predominating expression was one of boldness, defiance, reckless rage. She had looked as if she feared neither man nor devil; her looks had probably only mirrored her actual feelings. This air of wildness, of careless contempt for the unknown, unseen perils, which, according to her companion, hemmed her in on every side, had been accentuated by the fact that, having lost her hat when the cart was overturned, her thick black hair had broken loose from its fastenings and hung in tangled masses about her face. She had looked what she emphatically was, a dangerous woman in a dangerous frame of mind. Now all that had changed. She looked no longer angry or defiant; all traces of boldness had vanished altogether. Instead, a stolid, fixed expression had come upon her face, one which, as it were, was void of all expression. In her wide-open eyes there was a strained, staring look, which conveyed an uncomfortable impression that she was gazing at something which only she could see, gazing with a fixed intensity of vision as if she was bent on not losing even the minutest details.
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File: 0085_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman wearing a white cowboy hat and a blue dress sits on a snowy hill with a full moon in the background.
Caption: The image depicts a woman dressed in a blue dress with a white cowboy hat, set against a night sky with a full moon. The woman is seated on a snowy ground, her hand resting on her knee. The dress is adorned with intricate beadwork and a large, ornate belt.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue: Now recommenced the reign of rest and affection and stillness. Day with its burden and heat had departed, and twilight descending Brought back the evening star to the sky, and the herds to the homestead. Pawing the ground they came, and resting their necks on each other, And with their nostrils distended inhaling the freshness of evening. Foremost, bearing the bell, Evangeline's beautiful heifer, Proud of her snow-white hide, and the ribbon that waved from her collar, Quietly paced and slow, as if conscious of human affection. Then came the shepherd back with his bleating flocks from the seaside, Where was their favorite pasture. Behind them followed the watch-dog, Patient, full of importance, and grand in the pride of his instinct, Walking from side to side with a lordly air, and superbly Waving his bushy tail, and urging forward the stragglers; Regent of flocks was he when the shepherd slept; their protector, When from the forest at night, through the starry silence, the wolves howled. Late, with the rising moon, returned the wains from the marshes, Laden with briny hay, that filled the air with its odor, Cheerily neighed the steeds, with dew on their manes and their fetlocks, While aloft on their shoulders the wooden and ponderous saddles, Painted with brilliant dyes, and adorned with tassels of crimson, Nodded in bright array, like hollyhocks heavy with blossoms. Patiently stood the cows meanwhile, and yielded their udders Unto the milkmaid's hand; whilst loud and in regular cadence
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File: 0086_with-woman.png
Summary: a young woman in a red dress with a gold necklace and a gold headpiece with flowers on it.
Caption: The image depicts a young woman with curly hair, wearing a red dress adorned with floral patterns and a matching hat. She is positioned against a dark blue background, which is adorned with a crescent moon and stars. The woman's expression is serious, and she is looking directly at the viewer.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (The Ivory Child by H. Rider Haggard): Truly she was a lovely girl, or rather, young woman, for she must have been two or three-and-twenty. Not very tall, her proportions were rounded and exquisite, and her movements as graceful as those of a doe. Altogether she was doe-like, especially in the fineness of her lines and her large and liquid eyes. She was a dark beauty, with rich brown, waving hair, a clear olive complexion, a perfectly shaped mouth and very red lips. To me she looked more Italian or Spanish than Anglo-Saxon, and I believe that, as a matter of fact, she had some southern blood in her on her father’s side. She wore a dress of soft rose colour, and her only ornaments were a string of pearls and a single red camellia. I could see but one blemish, if it were a blemish, in her perfect person, and that was a curious white mark upon her breast, which in its shape exactly resembled the crescent moon.
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File: 0087_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman wearing a hat and a dress with flowers on it, looking to the side, with a moon in the background
Caption: The image depicts a woman wearing a hat and a dress, set against a backdrop of a full moon and a blue-hued night sky. The woman is positioned in profile, facing slightly to the left, and her attire is detailed with lace and floral patterns. The hat she wears is adorned with a flower on the brim, adding a touch of elegance to her appearance.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (The Fourth Estate, vol.1 by Armando Palacio Valds): Sometimes, but very seldom, Periquito got a little farther. When he was quite sure that the husband was not at home, nor even about the town, he sent the mysterious lady a bunch of flowers which was really a passionate eloquent letter, if the lady had only been as well versed as he was in the language of flowers. Unfortunately, the supine ignorance of the fair sex in Sarrio made these ingenious modes of communication null and void. The same can be said of certain other delicate attentions to which Periquito resorted to show his devotion. If he saw the lady wear a blue dress, he donned a cravat of the same color, a blue striped shirt and a blue flower in his buttonhole; and if the lady continued wearing the same dress, he went as far as to adopt blue trousers; and if the color were green, brown, or gray, he also followed suit. If the unhappy lady were of a religious turn of mind, Periquito voluntarily imposed on himself the terrible ordeal of rising early, and attending the mass to which she went; and if on Saturday, Monday, or Thursday she approached the sacred table to communicate, he also received the spiritual food from the priest on the same days. If the lady had plants in her window, Periquito promptly ascertained her hour of watering them, and took care to pass by at that time, when he was in the seventh heaven if perchance a few drops fell from the watering-pot on his hat. In the small hours of the night he wandered about the house, making invocations to the moon, and praying it might watch over the dreams of his love.
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File: 0088_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman wearing a hat with flowers on it and a necklace with a pendant
Caption: The image depicts a woman with a floral headdress, adorned with various flowers and adorned with a necklace. The background is a dark, greenish hue, which contrasts with the woman's vibrant attire. The woman's face is turned slightly to the right, and her expression is serious.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (The Best Short Stories of 1917 by Various): On this February night, at all events, he was extremely late, even beyond his custom, and Mrs. Malcolm, having waited as long as she possibly could, sighed amusedly and told her man to announce dinner. There were only three others besides herself in the drawing-room, Masters--Sir John Masters, the English financier--and his wife, and Mrs. Selden, dark, a little silent, with a flushed, finely cut face and a slightly sorrow-stricken mouth. And already these people had reached the point where talk is interesting. People did in Mrs. Malcolm's house. One went there with anticipation, and came away with the delightful, a little vague, exhilaration that follows an evening where the perfection of the material background--lights, food, wine, flowers--has been almost forgotten in the thrill of contact with real persons, a rare enough circumstance in a period when the dullest people entertain the most. In the presence of Mrs. Malcolm even the very great forgot the suspicions that grow with success and became themselves, and, having come once, came again vividly, overlooking other people who really had more right to their attentions than had she.
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File: 0089_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman wearing a large hat and a colorful dress with a red scarf is posing in front of a large building
Caption: The image depicts a woman dressed in a vibrant, colorful dress with intricate patterns and a wide straw hat. She is standing in a field with a backdrop of a large, domed building, suggesting a historical or cultural setting. The woman's attire is adorned with gold and red elements, adding a touch of elegance to her appearance.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue: She was not very young--I put her at two or three years over thirty. She was, or gave herself out to be, a widow. She was a female detective; I was a modest gentleman of rigid English respectability, not without some matrimonial experience in the ways of Woman. There was nothing in the purpose of her visit to have caused her to come upon me as a Venus, fully armed, and to have forced me to an abject surrender. From the feathers of her black picture hat to the tips of her black velvety shoes she was French-clad, the French of Paris, and wore her clothes like a Frenchwoman. She was dressed--_bien habillée, bien gantée, bien coiffée_. Her hair was red copper, her skin--the "glad neck" of her dress showed a lot of it--had the colour and bloom, the cream and roses, of Devon. Her eyes were very large and of a deep violet All these charms of dress and face and colour I could have gallantly withstood, but the voice of her settled my business at once. Its rich, full tone, its soft, appealing inflection, the pretty foreign accent with which she then chose to speak English--I can hear them now. I have always been sensitive to beautiful voices, and Madame Gilbert's voice is beyond comparison the most beautiful voice in the wide world.
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File: 0090_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman wearing a red dress and a large hat with flowers on it.
Caption: The image depicts a woman wearing a red hat adorned with flowers, set against a backdrop of a red and black floral pattern. The woman's attire is detailed with gold embroidery, and she is positioned in a frontal view, facing the viewer. The image is rendered in a realistic style, with a high level of detail in the woman's clothing and the floral pattern.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (The Vicissitudes of Bessie Fairfax by Harriet Parr): A white sateen dress embroidered in black and red, and a flapping leghorn hat tied down gypsy style with a crimson ribbon, was a picturesque costume, but not orthodox as a yachting costume at Ryde. Bessie had a provincial French air in spite of her English face, and Mr. Cecil Burleigh perhaps regretted that she was not more suitably equipped for making her _dbut_ in his company. He had a prejudice against peculiarity in dress, and knew that it was a terrible thing to be out of the fashion and to run the gauntlet of bold eyes on Ryde pier. At the seaside the world is idle, and has nothing to do but stare and speculate. Bessie had beauty enough to be stared at for that alone, but it was not her beauty that attracted most remark; it was her cavalier and the singularity of her attire. Poor child! with her own industrious fingers had she lavishly embroidered that heathen embroidery. The gentlemen were not critically severe; the ladies looked at her, and looked again for her escort's sake, and wondered how this prodigiously fine gentleman came to have foregathered with so outlandish a blushing girl; for Bessie, when she perceived herself an object of curious observation, blushed furiously under the unmitigated fire of their gaze. And most heartily did she wish herself back again on board the Foam.
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File: 0091_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman wearing a headdress with flowers and a necklace with a pendant.
Caption: The image is a detailed painting of a woman, rendered in a realistic style. The woman is depicted from the front, with her head turned slightly to the right. She is adorned with a headdress that features a large, white flower with orange and yellow petals, and a smaller, white flower with yellow and orange petals.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Daisy Burns (Volume 1) by Julia Kavanagh): The lady who had read now helped the old woman to rise, and led her in with great care. She soon returned alone, resumed her place, and read to herself from a smaller volume. She was attired in white, and with her head slightly bent, and her book on her lap, she looked as calm and still as a garden statue. The other lady was very young, a mere girl, short, pretty, fresh as a rose, and with glossy dark ringlets. She had been very restless during the reading, and had indulged in two or three little yawns. She now seemed joyous and happy at the release, and hovered around the bower light and merry as a bee. There was an airy grace about her little person that rendered motion as becoming to her as was repose to the other lady. She skipped and started about with restless vivacity; now she plucked a flower; now she stripped a shrub of its leaves; then suddenly turning round, she addressed her companion in the tones of a spoiled child:
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File: 0092_with-woman.png
Summary: woman in red dress looking down at the ground in a rainy city street.
Caption: The image depicts a woman standing in a wet street, her hair wet and dripping with water. She is wearing a red dress with intricate floral patterns and has her hair tied up in a bun. The background is a rainy night scene with streetlights and buildings visible, creating a moody atmosphere.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (The Brimming Cup by Dorothy Canfield Fisher): And what could she _do_ without rubber boots, when she wanted to wade through a brook, like this one, and the brooks were as they were now, all running spang full to the very edge with snow-water, the way this one did? Oo . . . Ooh . . . Ooh! how queer it did feel, to be standing most up to your knees this way, with the current curling by, all cold and snaky, feeling the fast-going water making your boot-legs shake like Aunt Hetty's old cheeks when she laughed, and yet your feet as _dry_ inside! How could they feel as cold as that, without being wet, as though they were magicked? That was a _real_ difference, even more than the wind cool inside your hair and the sun warm on the outside; or your hair tied tight at one end and all wobbly loose at the other. But this wasn't a nice difference. It didn't add up to make a nice feeling, but a sort of queer one, and if she stood there another minute, staring down into that swirly, snatchy water, she'd fall right over into it . . . it seemed to be snatching at _her!_ Oh gracious! This wasn't much better! on the squelchy dead grass of the meadow that looked like real ground and yet you sank right into it. Oh, it was _horridly_ soft, like touching the hand of that new man that had come to live with the old gentleman next door. She must hurry as fast as she could . . . it felt as though it was sucking at her feet, trying to pull her down altogether like the girl with the red shoes, and she didn't have any loaves of bread to throw down to step on . . .
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File: 0093_with-woman.png
Summary: The painting depicts a young woman in a brown dress, holding a pair of scissors, standing by a body of water with a cityscape in the background.
Caption: The image depicts a woman dressed in a brown dress with a white ruffled collar, holding a pair of scissors in her right hand. She is standing in front of a body of water, with a cityscape visible in the distance. The woman's attire is detailed, with a black hat and a white ruffled collar.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Uncle Max by Rosa Nouchette Carey): I found Miss Moseley a cheerful talkative person, with very few teeth and a great deal of good-nature. She gave me Miss Gunter's history as she made the bed. I could see that her marriage with the young chemist was a great source of glorification to all connected with her. She was still holding forth on the newly-furnished drawing-room, with its blue sofa and inlaid chiffonier, as she lighted a pair of candles in the brass candlesticks, and brought me a can of hot water. I am afraid I was rather thankful when she closed the door and left me alone, for I was tired, and longed to think over the wonderful events of the day. I slept very sweetly in the old-fashioned brown bed that was sacred to the memory of Miss Gunter, and woke happily to the fact that another blue day was shining, and that in a few hours Eric and I would be at Heathfield. I ate my frugal breakfast in a small back parlour overlooking the blank wall of a brewery, and before I had finished there was a quick tap at the door, and Eric entered. A boyish blush crossed his handsome face as I looked at him in some surprise. He had laid aside his workman's dress, and wore the ordinary garb of a gentleman. Perhaps his coat was a little shabby and the hat he held in his hand had lost its gloss, but no one would have noticed such trifles with that bright speaking face and air of refinement; and, though he looked down at his uncovered hands and muttered something about stopping to buy a pair of gloves, I hastened to assure him that it was so early that it did not matter. 'I should hardly
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File: 0094_with-woman.png
Summary: woman in black dress walking down a street at night with green hue
Caption: The image depicts a woman standing on a street at night, wearing a black sleeveless dress. She is looking directly at the camera, with her head slightly tilted to the right. The background is a blurred green, suggesting a nighttime setting with streetlights and buildings in the distance.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (Memorials of the Faithful by 'Abdu'l-Bah): Thirih had caught fire. She set out for Karbil, hoping to meet Siyyid Kzim, but she arrived too late: ten days before she reached that city, he passed away. Not long before his death the Siyyid had shared with his disciples the good news that the promised Advent was at hand. "Go forth," he repeatedly told them, "and seek out your Lord." Thus the most distinguished of his followers gathered for retirement and prayer, for fasts and vigils, in the Masjid-i-Kfih, while some awaited the Advent in Karbil. Among these was Thirih, fasting by day, practicing religious disciplines, and spending the night in vigils, and chanting prayers. One night when it was getting along toward dawn she laid her head on her pillow, lost all awareness of this earthly life, and dreamed a dream; in her vision a youth, a Siyyid, wearing a black cloak and a green turban, appeared to her in the heavens; he was standing in the air, reciting verses and praying with his hands upraised. At once, she memorized one of those verses, and wrote it down in her notebook when she awoke. After the Bb had declared His mission, and His first book, "The Best of Stories,"(121) was circulated, Thirih was reading a section of the text one day, and she came upon that same verse, which she had noted down from the dream. Instantly offering thanks, she fell to her knees and bowed her forehead to the ground, convinced that the Bb's message was truth.
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File: 0095_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman wearing a blue shirt with a floral pattern is looking to the side with her head tilted slightly to the right.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with wet hair, wearing a blue floral shirt, set against a vibrant background. The background is a mix of red and orange hues, creating a dynamic and visually striking scene. The woman's expression is serious, and her gaze is directed towards the camera, suggesting a contemplative or introspective mood.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Gentle Julia by Booth Tarkington): They followed a branch of the brick walk and passed round the south side of the house, where a small orchard of apple-trees showed generous promise. Hundreds of gay little round apples among the leaves glanced the high lights to and fro on their polished green cheeks as a breeze hopped through the yard, while the shade beneath trembled with coquettishly moving disks of sunshine like golden plates. A pattern of orange light and blue shadow was laid like a fanciful plaid over the lattice and the wide, slightly sagging steps of the elderly "back porch"; and here, taking her ease upon these steps, sat a middle-aged coloured woman of continental proportions. Beyond all contest, she was the largest coloured woman in that town, though her height was not unusual, and she had a rather small face. That is to say, as Florence had once explained to her, her face was small but the other parts of her head were terribly wide. Beside her was a circular brown basket, of a type suggesting arts-and-crafts; it was made with a cover, and there was a bow of brown silk upon the handle.
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File: 0096_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with wings and a crown of flowers is standing in front of a cloudy sky
Caption: The image depicts a woman standing in a mystical, ethereal environment. She is adorned in a red dress that is embellished with gold and silver accents, and her long, wavy hair is styled in loose waves. She is wearing a crown of gold and silver, which is adorned with small, glowing crystals.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (Home Life in Colonial Days by Alice Morse Earle): In Newbury, in 1653, two women were brought up for wearing silk hoods and scarfs, but they were discharged on proof that their husbands were worth L200 each. In Northampton, in the year 1676, a wholesale attempt was made by the magistrates to abolish "wicked apparell." Thirty-eight women of the Connecticut valley were presented at one time for various degrees of finery, and as of too small estate to wear silk. A young girl named Hannah Lyman was presented for "wearing silk in a fflaunting manner, in an offensive way and garb not only before but when she stood presented." Thirty young men were also presented for silk-wearing, long hair, and other extravagances. The calm flaunting of her silk in the very eyes of the Court by sixteen-year-old Hannah was premonitory of the waning power of the magistrates, for similar prosecutions at a later date were quashed. By 1682 the tables were turned and we find the Court arraigning the selectmen of five towns for not prosecuting offenders against these laws as in previous years. In 1675 the town of Dedham had been similarly warned and threatened, but apparently was never prosecuted. Connecticut called to its aid in repressing extravagant dress the economic power of taxation by ordering that whoever wore gold or silver lace, gold or silver buttons, silk ribbons, silk scarfs, or bone lace worth over three shillings a yard should be taxed as worth L150.
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File: 0097_with-woman.png
Summary: woman with long wavy orange hair wearing a red lace dress and large earrings.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long, wavy, bright orange hair, wearing a red lace dress. She is standing in front of a building with a stone facade, and her gaze is directed towards the camera. The woman's expression is serious, and she is wearing a necklace with a pendant.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (With Hoops of Steel by Florence Finch Kelly): Pierre Delarue insisted that Emerson Mead should come into his house for some wine and wait until they should know the worst or the best concerning little Paul. He sat alone in the room where first he had seen Marguerite, his anxiety about the child driven quite out of his mind by the thought that the long hours alone with her, out on the hills, their hearts and minds united in a common purpose, had come to an end, that she was soon to be another man's wife, and that he would never see her again. After a time the door opened and she came toward him, smiling gladly. The color had come back to her cheeks and her eyes were bright, though there were still dark rings around them, and her face told of the weariness her brain had not yet recognized. So absorbed had she been in giving the physician assistance and carrying out his directions that she had not thought of her appearance. Her white dress, which yesterday had been fresh and dainty, was in tatters and bedraggled strings, and her hair hung down her back in a disheveled mass. But she came shining down upon Mead's dark thoughts, fresh and beautiful and glorious beyond compare. He did not remember rising, but presently he knew that he was on his feet and that she was standing in front of him. He did not even hear her say, "Doctor Long says my little Bye-Bye will live and that there will probably be no serious results."
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File: 0098_with-woman.png
Summary: The woman in the image is wearing a blue dress and is sitting in a room with a window.
Caption: The image depicts a woman dressed in a blue dress with intricate lace details, sitting in a room with a window in the background. The woman is positioned in the center of the image, with her gaze directed towards the right side of the frame. She is wearing a necklace and earrings, and her hair is styled in a bun.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (The Man with the Book by John Matthias Weylland): The former of these belonged to a gang of fortune-telling impostors, who lived in the poor neighbourhoods of West London. One of these was a scissors-grinder, whose wife was a mulatto. When travelling with his machine he used to circulate cards among female servants, with his address, and the announcement that his wife "repaired parasols and cut cards." Another of the party was a vulgar over-dressed man, who styled himself "professor," and kept a magic mirror, to which silly girls were attracted by the promise of a peep at their future partners. The "'strology woman" assisted those persons when so pressed with business as to require aid, and she did a little lying on her own account among a lower class of dupes. The room at the corner of the Court was suited for her black-art purposes, as persons could slip in unnoticed, and there was no passage for other lodgers. She was about forty years of age, and unmarried. She only received her inquirers after six in the evening, and then she dressed in a gaudy kind of Eastern costume, with fantastic head-dress, and large coral necklace, from which was suspended a bunch of heavy charms. The front was the waiting room, and the back was the audience chamber. This latter was well furnished and strangely decorated. Over the mantle-shelf was a badly painted chart of the twelve signs of the zodiac, and at the side a picture of Daniel's vision of the four beasts. Upon the table was a Prayer-Book, several well-worn packs of cards, a celestial globe, and a number of "nativity" papers,
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File: 0099_with-woman.png
Summary: The woman is holding a golden sword with a green gem on the hilt.
Caption: The image depicts a woman dressed in a red, ornate gown with intricate floral patterns and a high, voluminous hairstyle. She is holding a golden sword with a green gem at the hilt, which is prominently displayed in the image. The woman's attire is complemented by a necklace with multiple pendants, and her hair is styled in a high, voluminous bun.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Fern's Hollow by Hesba Stretton): When Stephen, with tired little Nan riding on his shoulder, returned from church in the afternoon, they found Bess had arrived, and was sitting in the warmest corner, close to a very large and blazing fire, which filled the cabin with light and heat. Bess had dressed herself up in her best attire, in a bright red stuff gown, and with yellow ribbons tied in her hair, which had been brought to a degree of smoothness wonderful to Stephen, who saw her daily on the pit-bank. She had washed her face and hands with so much care as to leave broad stripes of grime round her neck and wrists, partly concealed by a necklace and bracelets of glass beads; and her green apron was marvellously braided in a large pattern. Martha, in her clean print dress, and white handkerchief pinned round her throat, was a pleasant contrast to the tawdry girl, who looked wildly at Stephen as he entered, as if she scarcely knew what to do.
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File: 0100_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with a serious expression is wearing a headscarf
Caption: The image depicts a woman with a serious expression, wearing a headscarf adorned with intricate patterns in shades of blue and gold. The headscarf is draped over her head, covering her hair and part of her face. The background is blurred, suggesting an outdoor setting, possibly a market or a street.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (The Hill of Dreams by Arthur Machen): He heard the history of the woman who fell in love with her slave-boy, and tempted him for three years in vain. He heard the tale from the woman's full red lips, and watched her face, full of the ineffable sadness of lust, as she described her curious stratagems in mellow phrases. She was drinking a sweet yellow wine from a gold cup as she spoke, and the odor in her hair and the aroma of the precious wine seemed to mingle with the soft strange words that flowed like an unguent from a carven jar. She told how she bought the boy in the market of an Asian city, and had him carried to her house in the grove of fig-trees. "Then," she went on, "he was led into my presence as I sat between the columns of my court. A blue veil was spread above to shut out the heat of the sun, and rather twilight than light shone on the painted walls, and the wonderful colours of the pavement, and the images of Love and the Mother of Love. The men who brought the boy gave him over to my girls, who undressed him before me, one drawing gently away his robe, another stroking his brown and flowing hair, another praising the whiteness of his limbs, and another caressing him, and speaking loving words in his hear. But the boy looked sullenly at them all, striking away their hands, and pouting with his lovely and splendid lips, and I saw a blush, like the rosy veil of dawn, reddening his body and his cheeks. Then I made them bathe him, and anoint him with scented oils from head to foot, till his limbs shone and glistened with the gentle and mellow glow of an ivory
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File: 0101_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with a tattoo on her arm is posing in front of a red curtain
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long, wavy hair, wearing a necklace with a pendant, and a tattoo on her left shoulder that reads "BPUE". The background is a vibrant red, creating a striking contrast with the woman's attire and the red lighting. The woman's expression is serious, and her gaze is directed towards the camera.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Resurrection by Leo Tolstoy): When Nekhludoff came out of the gate he met the girl with the long earrings on the well-trodden path that lay across the pasture ground, overgrown with dock and plantain leaves. She had a long, brightly-coloured apron on, and was quickly swinging her left arm in front of herself as she stepped briskly with her fat, bare feet. With her right arm she was pressing a fowl to her stomach. The fowl, with red comb shaking, seemed perfectly calm; he only rolled up his eyes and stretched out and drew in one black leg, clawing the girl’s apron. When the girl came nearer to “the master,” she began moving more slowly, and her run changed into a walk. When she came up to him she stopped, and, after a backward jerk with her head, bowed to him; and only when he had passed did she recommence to run homeward with the cock. As he went down towards the well, he met an old woman, who had a coarse dirty blouse on, carrying two pails full of water, that hung on a yoke across her bent back. The old woman carefully put down the pails and bowed, with the same backward jerk of her head.
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File: 0102_with-woman.png
Summary: a young woman with long brown hair is wearing a red garment and has her hands clasped together in front of her
Caption: The image presents a young woman with long, wavy brown hair, dressed in a red garment adorned with gold embroidery. She is positioned in front of a radiant, golden halo that radiates outward from the center of the image. The halo is encircled by a radiant glow, enhancing its luminosity.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (Our Little Lady by Emily Sarah Holt): But who follows him?--this superbly dressed woman in rich blue glistening samite, with a black and gold hood, under which we see her hair bound with a golden fillet, and a necklace of costly pearls clasped round her throat--for it is a warm day, and she has not tied her hood. She must be somebody of consequence, for a smart gentleman leads her by the hand, and one with a long staff walks in front, to keep the people from pressing too close on her. She is indeed somebody of consequence-- the Countess of Lincoln herself, by birth an Italian Princess; and she is so grand, and so rich, and so beautiful and stately--and I am sorry to add, so proud--that people call her the Queen of Lincoln. She has not far to go home--only through the archway, and past Saint Michael's Church and the Bull Gate, and then the great portcullis of the grim old Castle lifts its head to receive its lady, and she disappears from our sight.
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File: 0103_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with large wings and a child in a yellow outfit holding hands in a forest
Caption: The image depicts a woman with large, white, feathered wings, holding a child in her arms. The woman is dressed in an orange and gold traditional outfit, adorned with intricate jewelry, including a necklace and earrings. The child, dressed in a yellow outfit, is also adorned with jewelry, including a necklace and earrings.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Louisa Of Prussia and Her Times by Louise Muhlbach): The queen sat at the piano, practising one of Reichardt’s new songs which her singing-teacher, the royal concert-master and composer, Himmel, had just brought to her. The queen wore a most brilliant costume, which, however, seemed calculated less for her silent cabinet and for the music-teacher than for a great gala-day and an aristocratic assembly at court. A white satin dress, inter-woven with golden flowers, and closely fitting, according to the fashion of that period, surrounded her noble figure. Her splendid white arms were bare, and her wrists were adorned with two bracelets of gold and precious stones. Her neck and shoulders, showing the noble lines and forms of a Venus of Melos, were uncovered like her arms, and adorned only with jewelry. Her hair, surrounding a forehead of classical beauty in waving masses, was fastened behind in a Grecian knot holding the golden diadem, set with diamonds, which arose on the queen’s head. [Footnote: A portrait, representing the queen precisely in this costume, may be seen at the royal palace in Berlin.] A gentle blush mantled her cheeks, and a smile of melancholy and tenderness trembled on her purple lips. She had her hands on the keys, and her eyes were fixed on the music-book before her; but she had suddenly ceased singing in the middle of the piece, and her voice had died away in a long sigh.
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File: 0104_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman in a red and white dress holding a sword in a desert landscape
Caption: The image depicts a woman in a medieval-style outfit, holding a large sword in her right hand and a dagger in her left. She is standing in a dramatic, smoky landscape with a rocky terrain in the foreground. The sky is filled with clouds, and the woman's attire is adorned with gold and silver jewelry.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Jeanne d'Arc by Mrs. Oliphant): painfully holding up with uplifted arms the cross that she might still see it, the soldiers crowding, lit up with the red glow of the fire, the horrified, trembling crowd like an agitated sea around. The wild flames rose and fell in sinister gleams and flashes, the smoke blew upwards, by times enveloping that white Maid standing out alone against a sky still blue and sweet with May--Pandemonium underneath, but Heaven above. Then suddenly there came a great cry from among the black fumes that began to reach the clouds: "My voices were of God! They have not deceived me!" She had seen and recognised it at last. Here it was, the miracle: the great victory that had been promised-- though not with clang of swords and triumph of rescuing knights, and "St. Denis for France!"--but by the sole hand of God, a victory and triumph for all time, for her country a crown of glory and ineffable shame.
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File: 0105_with-woman.png
Summary: woman drinking soda from a red can with a red background.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with curly hair, wearing a red dress, sitting at a table with a Coca-Cola can in her hand. The Coca-Cola can is prominently displayed in the foreground, close to the camera, and is positioned in front of the woman. The woman is holding the Coca-Cola can with her right hand, and her left hand is resting on the table.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (The Ladies' Guide to True Politeness and Perfect Manners by Eliza Leslie): It is but rarely that you will meet with articles of really good quality on very low terms, unless near the close of the season, when the storekeepers, anxious to get rid of their old stock, generally put down the prices of the goods that are left on hand; knowing that by the return of next season, these will be superseded by things of a newer fashion. Economical ladies, who are not resolutely determined on wearing none but articles of the very latest fashion, may thus supply themselves with excellent silks, lawns, &c. in August and September, at prices far below what they would have given in May or June. And then they can lay them by till next summer. In the same way they can purchase merinoes, mousselines de laine, &c. in January, February, and March, much lower than in November and December. It is best always to buy rather too much than too little; and to have a piece left, rather than to get a scanty pattern, such as will barely hold out, leaving nothing for repairs or alterations. There is much advantage in getting an extra yard and a half, or two yards, and keeping it back for new sleeves. Unless you are small and slender, it is not well to buy a dress embroidered with a border pattern. They are always scanty in width, and have that look when made up. The skirts are never quite wide enough. A tall woman requires as full a skirt as a fat one; else her height will make her look lanky and narrow.
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File: 0106_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with wings and a horse in the sky
Caption: The image depicts a woman with wings, riding a white horse with golden mane and tail. The woman is dressed in a flowing, light-colored dress with intricate patterns, and she is holding the reins of the horse with both hands. The horse is rearing up on its hind legs, and the woman's arms are outstretched, holding the reins.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Hints on Horsemanship, to a Nephew and Niece by George Greenwood): A soldier should go to single combat with one of his reins in this way. To have to use his sword hand to shorten his reins may make the difference of life or death to him. In the case of his adversary gaining his left rear, by dropping the reins the sword is instantly shifted to the left hand, and the short rein is instantly grasped with the right hand at the proper length. As the soldier is only trained to use his sword with his right hand (this might be remedied by my sword exercise), it is not likely that his left hand should be a match for his adversary's right, but he will at least be able to keep his adversary at a distance by striking or pointing at his horse's head. This would be a hopeless affair with the right hand, particularly for a cuirassier. To be able to present a pistol to the rear with the left hand would be invaluable in such a case. The power to drop and instantly resume the short rein also allows two hands to be occasionally used to the lance or carbine; a skirmisher therefore should have one rein tied up. A pulling horse may be ridden with one or both reins tied, also a restive horse; his usual mode of resistance is running back and rearing, because from fear of his falling backward chastisement usually ceases then. In such a case quit the reins, lay hold of the mane with both hands, ply both spurs, even while the horse is on his hind legs, and the moment he flies from them, the reins are seized in the mode to be used most powerfully without requiring any adjustment. If the horse will not answer the spur,
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File: 0107_with-woman.png
Summary: a young woman with angelic wings holding a revolver in a desert landscape
Caption: The image depicts a young woman with curly hair, wearing an orange robe adorned with gold and silver jewelry, holding a rifle. She is standing in a field with a backdrop of a cloudy sky, suggesting a dramatic or historical setting. The woman's expression is serious, and she appears to be in a moment of contemplation or readiness for action.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Awakening and To Let by John Galsworthy): In Green Street Winifred stood to receive, just a little less composed than usual. Soames' request for the use of her house had come on her at a deeply psychological moment. Under the influence of a remark of Prosper Profond, she had begun to exchange her Empire for Expressionistic furniture. There were the most amusing arrangements, with violet, green, and orange blobs and scriggles, to be had at Mealard's. Another month and the change would have been complete. Just now, the very "intriguing" recruits she had enlisted, did not march too well with the old guard. It was as if her regiment were half in khaki, half in scarlet and bearskins. But her strong and comfortable character made the best of it in a drawing-room which typified, perhaps, more perfectly than she imagined, the semi-bolshevized imperialism of her country. After all, this was a day of merger, and you couldn't have too much of it! Her eyes travelled indulgently among her guests. Soames had gripped the back of a buhl chair; young Mont was behind that "awfully amusing" screen, which no one as yet had been able to explain to her. The ninth baronet had shied violently at a round scarlet table, inlaid under glass with blue Australian butteries' wings, and was clinging to her Louis-Quinze cabinet; Francie Forsyte had seized the new mantel-board, finely carved with little purple grotesques on an ebony ground; George, over by the old spinet, was holding a little sky-blue book as if about to enter bets; Prosper Profond was twiddling the knob of the open door, black with
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File: 0108_with-woman.png
Summary: young woman in uniform sitting in a train with other passengers.
Caption: The image captures a young woman seated in a train, wearing a blue denim shirt with a name tag on the left side of her chest. She is seated in a seat with a black headrest, and her hands are clasped together in front of her. The background is blurred, indicating that the focus is on the woman and her attire.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (Jersey Street and Jersey Lane by H. C. Bunner): The figure and form which we know best are those of old Judge Phoenix--for so the office-jester named him when we first moved in, and we have known him by that name ever since. He is a fat old Irishman, with a clean-shaven face, who stands summer and winter in the side doorway that opens, next to the little grocery opposite, on the alley-way to the rear tenement. Summer and winter he is buttoned to his chin in a faded old black overcoat. Alone he stands for the most part, smoking his black pipe and teetering gently from one foot to the other. But sometimes a woman with a shawl over her head comes out of the alley-way and exchanges a few words with him before she goes to the little grocery to get a loaf of bread, or a half-pint of milk, or to make that favorite purchase of the poor--three potatoes, one turnip, one carrot, four onions, and the handful of kale--a "b'ilin'." And there is also another old man, a small and bent old man, who has some strange job that occupies odd hours of the day, who stops on his way to and from work to talk with the Judge. For hours and hours they talk together, till one wonders how in the course of years they have not come to talk themselves out. What can they have left to talk about? If they had been Mezzofanti and Macaulay, talking in all known languages on all known topics, they ought certainly to have exhausted the resources of conversation long before this time.
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File: 0109_with-woman.png
Summary: a young woman in a white dress with a flower in her hair, holding a sunflower, with a dark background
Caption: The image depicts a young woman with a serene expression, dressed in a white dress with puffed sleeves and a pearl necklace. She is holding a sunflower in her right hand, which is positioned close to the camera. The background is a dark, textured wall, creating a dramatic effect that draws the viewer's attention to the woman and the sunflower.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Specimens of German Romance; Vol. II. Master Flea by Ernst Theodor Amadeus Hoffmann): She was small, and, indeed, somewhat too small, but, at the same time, neatly and elegantly proportioned. Her forehead, in other respects handsomely formed and full of expression, acquired a something strange and singular from the unusual size of the eyeballs, and from the dark pencilly brows being higher placed than ordinary. The little thing was dressed, or rather decorated, as if she had just come from a ball. A splendid diadem glittered amongst her raven locks, rich point lace only half veiled her bosom, a black and yellow striped dress of heavy silk sate close upon her slender body, and fell down in folds just so low as to let the neatest little feet be seen, in white shoes, while the sleeves were just long enough, and the gloves just short enough, to show the fairest part of a dazzling arm. A rich necklace, and brilliant ear-rings, completed her attire.
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File: 0110_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a dress with a floral pattern is standing in a field of tall grass at sunset
Caption: The image depicts a woman standing in a field of tall grass, wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a dress adorned with a floral pattern. The backdrop is a night sky filled with stars, suggesting a celestial setting. The woman's gaze is directed towards the right side of the image, her expression serene and contemplative.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue: It was in October that my mother moved from the Rectory to Lime--our own dear home for the next five-and-twenty years. Those who visit Hurstmonceaux now can hardly imagine Lime as it then was, all is so changed. The old white gabled house, with clustered chimneys and roofs rich in colour, rose in a brilliant flower-garden sheltered on every side by trees, and separated in each direction by several fields from the highroad or the lanes. On the side towards the Rectory, a drive between close walls of laurel led to the old-fashioned porch which opened into a small low double hall. The double drawing-room and the dining-room, admirably proportioned, though small, looked across the lawn, and one of the great glistening pools which belonged to an old monastery (once on the site of the house), and which lay at the foot of a very steep bank carpeted with primroses in spring. Beyond the pool was our high field, over which the stumpy spire of the church could be seen, at about a mile and a half distant, cutting the silver line of the sea. The castle was in a hollow farther still and not visible. On the right of the lawn a grass walk behind a shrubbery looked out upon the wide expanse of Pevensey Level with its ever-varying lights and shadows, and was sheltered by the immensely tall abele trees, known as "the Five Sisters of Lime," which tossed their weird arms, gleaming silver-white, far into the sky, and were a feature in all distant views of Hurstmonceaux. On the left were the offices, and a sort of enclosed
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File: 0111_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman in a white dress with floral patterns is holding a sword and looking at the moon
Caption: The image depicts a woman standing in front of a wall adorned with a large moon and a sunset. She is holding a sword in her right hand, which is positioned close to the camera. The woman's attire is detailed, with a white dress adorned with floral patterns and a necklace.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (A Mountain Woman and Others by (AKA Elia Wilkinson) Elia W. Peattie): "Old man," it said, "you're right. She is here. I found my mountain woman here where the four voices of her cataracts had been calling to her. I saw her the moment our mules rounded the road that commands the valley. We had been riding all night and were drenched with cold dew, hungry to desperation, and my spirits were of lead. Suddenly we got out from behind the granite wall, and there she was, standing, where I had seen her so often, beside the little waterfall that she calls the happy one. She was looking straight up at the billowing mist that dipped down the mountain, mammoth saffron rolls of it, plunging so madly from the impetus of the wind that one marvelled how it could be noiseless. Ah, you do not know Judith! That strange, unsophisticated, sometimes awkward woman you saw bore no more resemblance to my mountain woman than I to Hercules. How strong and beautiful she looked standing there wrapped in an ecstasy! It was my primitive woman back in her primeval world. How the blood leaped in me! All my old romance, so different from the common love-histories of most men, was there again within my reach! All the mystery, the poignant happiness were mine again. Do not hold me in contempt because I show you my heart. You saw my misery. Why should I grudge you a glimpse of my happiness? She saw me when I touched her hand, not before, so wrapped was she. But she did not seem surprised. Only in her splendid eyes there came a large content. She pointed to the dancing little white fall. 'I thought something wonderful was going to
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File: 0112_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman wearing a cowboy hat and a floral jacket is standing in a field at sunset
Caption: The image depicts a woman standing in a field, wearing a cowboy hat and a colorful floral jacket. She is facing away from the camera, with her gaze directed towards the right side of the frame. The background is a vibrant sunset, with the sky painted in hues of orange and pink, and the sun setting behind her.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (Elizabeth and her German Garden by "Elizabeth", AKA Marie Annette Beauchamp): From nearly all the windows of the house I can look out across the plain, with no obstacle in the shape of a hill, right away to a blue line of distant forest, and on the west side uninterruptedly to the setting sun--nothing but a green, rolling plain, with a sharp edge against the sunset. I love those west windows better than any others, and have chosen my bedroom on that side of the house so that even times of hair-brushing may not be entirely lost, and the young woman who attends to such matters has been taught to fulfil her duties about a mistress recumbent in an easychair before an open window, and not to profane with chatter that sweet and solemn time. This girl is grieved at my habit of living almost in the garden, and all her ideas as to the sort of life a respectable German lady should lead have got into a sad muddle since she came to me. The people round about are persuaded that I am, to put it as kindly as possible, exceedingly eccentric, for the news has travelled that I spend the day out of doors with a book, and that no mortal eye has ever yet seen me sew or cook. But why cook when you can get some one to cook for you? And as for sewing, the maids will hem the sheets better and quicker than I could, and all forms of needlework of the fancy order are inventions of the evil one for keeping the foolish from applying their heart to wisdom.
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File: 0113_with-woman.png
Summary: a young woman wearing a colorful floral dress and a straw hat with flowers on it, standing in a field with the sun setting in the background.
Caption: The image captures a young woman standing in a field, her face illuminated by the warm glow of the setting sun. She is wearing a vibrant yellow dress adorned with colorful floral patterns, and her hat, a straw hat with a floral pattern, is prominently displayed. The background is blurred, focusing attention on the woman and her attire.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (A Sister's Love by W. Heimburg): "May came on in the country in all its glory; the trees blossomed and the seeds sprouted, and Btze lay as in a snowy sea. The sun laughed in the sky, as Susanna walked through the trim garden-paths on Klaus's arm. Now and then I saw her cross the court, with straw hat and parasol, in a light summer dress, and go a little way into the fields to meet him. The people stood still as she passed, the women and girls courtesied, the men made as deep a bow to her as to the rest of us from the house, and the children ran up to her in troops, and the sound of their 'Good-day, gracious Frau,' and Susanna's clear, laughing voice came up to me; her charms fairly bewitched everybody. Then she would return on her husband's arm, a great bouquet of field flowers in her hands, he leading his horse by the bridle and carrying her parasol and shawl; and her chatter and his deep voice, calling her a thousand pet names, rechoed from the old walls when they had come into the house.
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File: 0114_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman wearing a pink dress with a floral headpiece and necklace is standing in front of a large moon
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long dark hair, adorned with a floral headpiece, standing in front of a large, glowing moon. The moon is positioned to the left of the woman, casting a warm, orange glow over the scene. The woman is dressed in a pink dress with a floral pattern, and she is wearing a necklace with a pendant.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Notable Women Authors of the Day by Helen C. Black): In person Miss Betham-Edwards is about the medium height, middle-aged, and slender in figure. She is fair in complexion; has hazel eyes, and a mass of thick, dark hair, grey over the temples, and worn in a twist at the back, the ends dispersed neatly round a small and compact head. She is wearing black for the present, being in mourning, but is fond of warm, cheerful colours for habitual use. "But, indeed," she says, smiling, "I have not much time to think of dress, and I was greatly amused by the remark of a former old landlady who, anxious that I should look my best at some social gathering, remarked austerely to me, 'Really, Madam, you do not dress according to your talents!' Upon which I replied 'My good woman, if all folks dressed according to their talents, two-thirds, I fear, would go but scantily clothed.'"
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File: 0115_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman wearing a headdress with pink flowers and a necklace with a pendant is standing on a beach at sunset.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with a headdress of pink flowers, standing on a beach at sunset. The woman is facing away from the camera, with her head turned slightly to the left. She is wearing a traditional outfit with a colorful, patterned garment and a necklace with a pendant.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (My First Years As A Frenchwoman, 1876-1879 by Mary King Waddington): W. went once or twice to the Senate, as the houses met on the 12th or 14th of January, but there was nothing very interesting those first days. The Chamber was taking breath after the holidays and the last ministerial crisis, and giving the new ministry a chance. I think Freycinet had his hands full, but he was quite equal to the task. I went late one afternoon to the Elyse. I had written to Madame Grvy to ask if she would receive me before I left for Italy. When I arrived, the one footman at the door told me Madame Grvy was un peu souffrante, would see me up-stairs. I went up a side staircase, rather dark, preceded by the footman, who ushered me into Madame Grvy's bedroom. It looked perfectly uncomfortable--was large, with very high ceilings, stiff gilt furniture standing against the wall, and the heat something awful,--a blazing fire in the chimney. Madame Grvy was sitting in an armchair, near the fire, a grey shawl on her shoulders and a lace fichu on her head. It was curiously unlike the bedroom I had just left. I had been to see a friend, who was also souffrante. She was lying under a lace coverlet lined with pink silk, lace, and embroidered cushions all around her, flowers, pink lamp-shades, silver flacons, everything most luxurious and modern. The contrast was striking. Madame Grvy was very civil, and talkative,--said she was very tired. The big dinners and late hours she found very fatiguing. She quite understood that I was glad to get away, but didn't think it was very prudent to travel in such
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File: 0116_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with a bow and arrow in her hand, with a sunset in the background.
Caption: The image depicts a woman standing in a field, holding a bow and arrow, with a large, glowing sun in the background. The sun is positioned to the right of the woman, casting a warm glow over the scene. The woman is adorned with a flower crown and earrings, adding a touch of elegance to her attire.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue: sweetness of a pungent and fiery fidelity. But who can forget the horror of inward collapse, the sickness of spiritual re-action, the reluctant, incredulous rage of disenchantment and disgust, with which he came upon the thrice-unhappy third part? The two first volumes have all the intensity and all the perfection of George Sand's best work, tempered by all the simple purity and interfused with all the stainless pathos of Mrs. Gaskell's; they carry such affluent weight of thought, and shine with such warm radiance of humor, as invigorates and illuminates the work of no other famous woman; they have the fiery clarity of crystal or of lightning; they go near to prove a higher claim and attest a clearer right on the part of their author than that of George Sand herself to the crowning crown of praise conferred on her by the hand of a woman ever greater and more glorious than either in her sovereign gift of lyric genius, to the salutation given as by an angel indeed from heaven, of 'large-brained woman and large-hearted man.'" In the momentary lapse of Maggie, Swinburne finds a fatal defect, which no subsequent repentance atones for. He says that "here is the patent flaw, here too plainly is the flagrant blemish, which defaces and degrades the very crown and flower of George Eliot's wonderful and most noble work; no rent or splash on the raiment, but a cancer in the very bosom, a gangrene in the very flesh. It is a radical and mortal plague-spot, corrosive and incurable."
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File: 0117_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman wearing a cowboy hat and a pink dress with a floral pattern is standing in a field at sunset
Caption: The image depicts a woman standing in a field of tall grass, wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a pink dress with a floral pattern. The background is a sunset, with the sky painted in hues of orange and yellow, suggesting a warm, golden hour. The woman's gaze is directed to the right, and her expression is serious.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Ladies-In-Waiting by Kate Douglas Wiggin): She frequently declared to herself afterwards that she should have had "a fit of sickness" if it had not been for the thunderstorm that came up on that never-to-be-forgotten Saturday afternoon. She had waked that morning with a dull pain in her heart--a dull pain that had grown keener when she looked from her attic window and saw the sun shining clear in the sky. Not a cloud sullied the surface of that fair blue canopy on this day of the faithless Pitt's wedding-journey. A sweet wind blew the tail feathers of the golden cock on the squire's barn till he stared the west directly in the eye. What a day to drive to Portland! She would have worn tan-colored low shoes and brown openwork stockings (what ugly feet Jennie Perkins had!), a buff challie dress with little brown autumn leaves on it, a belt and sash of brown watered ribbon (Jennie had a waist like a flour-barrel!), and a sailor hat with a bunch of yellow roses on one side--or would two brown quills, standing up coquettishly, have been more attractive? Then she would have taken a brown cloth shoulder-cape, trimmed with rows upon rows of cream-colored lace, and a brown parasol with an acorn of polished wood on the handle. Oh, what was the use of living when she could wear none of this bridal apparel, but must put on her old pink calico and go down to meet Jimmy's brotherly sneers? Was there ever such a cruelly sunshiny morning? A spot of flickering light danced and quivered on her blue wallpaper until she could bear it no longer, and
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File: 0118_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with glittery skin and a glowing moon in the background.
Caption: The image presents a stylized representation of a woman with her face and body covered in glittering particles, set against a backdrop of a full moon and a glowing orange sky. The woman's hair is long and wavy, and her face is adorned with a multitude of glittering particles that reflect the light, giving her a shimmering appearance.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (The Coward by Henry Morford): He was at least five feet eleven inches in height, with a figure rather slight than stout, but singularly erect, sinewy, and elastic, every movement giving evidence that the body could not well be set to a task beyond its power of endurance. The foot was not very small, but well-shaped, and the ungloved hand which held his riding-whip was almost faultless in shape and color. The hat removed, a brow rather broad than high was seen, with a head well balanced in all the intellectual and moral requirements, densely covered with light, curling hair, of that peculiar shade which the poetical designate as "blonde" and the practical as "sandy." The complexion, though the cheeks were a little browned by the summer sun, was very fair, and that of the brow as stainless as any petted girl's could be. The features were nearly faultless in the Greek severity of their outline, the nose straight and well cut, the mouth small but with full curved lips, the eyes of hazel, widely set. The lower part of his face was effectually concealed by a luxuriant full beard and moustache, a few shades darker than his hair, and showing a propensity to curl on slight provocation. He was a decidedly handsome man of twenty-eight to thirty, erect, gentlemanly, dignified, and with something in his general appearance irresistibly reminding the spectator of the traditional appearance of those blonde Englishmen of good birth, who seem made to dawdle life away without exhibiting one of the sterner qualities of human nature, until deadly
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File: 0119_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with glowing blue and pink hair is standing in front of a large moon with a fiery sky behind her
Caption: The image depicts a woman standing in a desert-like landscape, with a large, fiery moon in the background. The moon is depicted with a glowing, multicolored surface, and the woman's hair is adorned with glowing, blue and pink particles that seem to be floating around her head. The woman's face is turned to the left, and she appears to be gazing at the moon.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (The Isle of Palms by John Wilson): A lovelier vision in the moonlight stands, Than Bard e'er woo'd in fairy lands, Or Faith with tranced eye adored, Floating around our dying Lord. Her silent face is saintly-pale, And sadness shades it like a veil: A consecrated nun she seems, Whose waking thoughts are deep as dreams, And in her hush'd and dim abode For ever dwell upon her God, Though the still fount of tears and sighs And human sensibilities! Well may the Moon delight to shed Her softest radiance round that head, And mellow the cool ocean-air That lifts by fits her sable hair. These mild and melancholy eyes Are dear unto the starry skies, As the dim effusion of their rays Blends with the glimmering light that plays O'er the blue heavens, and snowy clouds, The cloud-like sails, and radiant shrouds. Fair creature! Thou dost seem to be Some wandering spirit of the sea, That dearly loves the gleam of sails, And o'er them breathes propitious gales. Hither thou comest, for one wild hour, With him thy sinless paramour, To gaze, while the wearied sailors sleep, On this beautiful phantom of the deep, That seem'd to rise with the rising Moon. --But the Queen of Night will be sinking soon, Then will you, like two breaking waves, Sink softly to your coral caves, Or, noiseless as the falling dew, Melt into Heaven's delicious blue.
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File: 0120_with-woman.png
Summary: woman in a yellow floral dress with a flower crown and earrings, looking out at the sunset, with a cityscape in the background.
Caption: The image captures a serene sunset scene featuring a woman in a vibrant yellow floral dress. The woman is positioned in the foreground, facing away from the camera, with her head slightly tilted to the right. She is adorned with a large flower headpiece that adds a touch of nature's beauty to the scene.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue: He sat there a long while, looking through the railings at the Virgin del Sagrario. Born in the Cathedral and brought up as a child by his mother, who knelt with him before the image, he had always admired it as the most perfect type of beauty. Now he criticised it coldly with his artistic eye. She was ugly and grotesque like all the very rich images; sumptuous and wealthy piety had decked her out with their treasures. There was nothing about her of the idealism of the Virgin painted by Christian artists; she was much more like an Indian idol covered with jewels. The embroidered dress and mantle stood out with the stiffness of stone folds, and over the head-dress sparkled a crown as large as a helmet, diminishing the face. Gold, pearls and diamonds shone on every part of her vestments, and she wore pendants and bracelets of immense value.
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File: 0121_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman wearing a hat and a necklace with a flower on it, standing in a desert with a full moon in the sky
Caption: The image depicts a woman standing in a desert landscape, wearing a large, black hat adorned with a sunflower and a necklace. The backdrop is a vibrant sunset, with a large moon and a starry sky. The woman's attire is detailed with intricate embroidery, and she is looking to the side, possibly gazing at something in the distance.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (All on the Irish Shore by E. Œ. Somerville and Martin Ross): In the meantime the object of this condemnation was driving his ten Irish miles home, by the light of a frosty full moon. Between the shafts of his cart a trim-looking mare of about fifteen hands trotted lazily, forging, shying, and generally comporting herself in a way only possible to a grass-fed animal who has been in the hands of such as Mr. William Fennessy. The thick and dingy mane that had hung impartially on each side of her neck, now, together with the major portion of her voluminous tail, adorned the manure heap in the rear of the Fennessy public-house. The pallid fleece in which she had been muffled had given place to a polished coat of iron-grey, that looked black in the moonlight. A week of over-abundant oats had made her opinionated, but had not, so far, restored to her the fine lady nervousness that had landed her in the window of the hat shop.
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File: 0122_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with curly hair is holding a cross in her hand and looking at the sun
Caption: The image depicts a woman with curly hair, wearing a brown robe, standing in front of a sunset. She is holding a small cross in her hand, which is positioned close to her face. The background is a vibrant sunset with a large sun in the sky, casting a warm glow over the scene.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (Four Meetings by Henry James): She was very strange; yet my first feeling was that I had seen her before. Then I perceived that I had only seen ladies who were very much like her. But I had seen them very far away from Grimwinter, and it was an odd sensation to be seeing her here. Whither was it the sight of her seemed to transport me? To some dusky landing before a shabby Parisian _quatrieme_,--to an open door revealing a greasy antechamber, and to Madame leaning over the banisters, while she holds a faded dressing-gown together and bawls down to the portress to bring up her coffee. Miss Spencer's visitor was a very large woman, of middle age, with a plump, dead-white face, and hair drawn back _a la chinoise_. She had a small penetrating eye, and what is called in French an agreeable smile. She wore an old pink cashmere dressing-gown, covered with white embroideries, and, like the figure in my momentary vision, she was holding it together in front with a bare and rounded arm and a plump and deeply dimpled hand.
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File: 0123_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with long hair and a glowing halo is dancing in the sky
Caption: The image depicts a woman in a flowing black dress, standing in a field of orange and yellow flowers. She is facing towards the right side of the image, with her right hand raised in a gesture of power or protection. The background is a dramatic sky filled with orange and yellow clouds, suggesting a sunset or sunrise.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (A Chance Acquaintance by W. D. Howells): Kitty cast a grateful glance upon Mr. Arbuton, as they now entered the church, by a common impulse. On their way towards the high-altar they passed the rude black bier, with the tallow candles yet smoking in their black wooden candlesticks. A few worshippers were dropped here and there in the vacant seats, and at a principal side-altar knelt a poor woman praying before a wooden effigy of the dead Christ that lay in a glass case under the altar. The image was of life-size, and was painted to represent life, or rather death, with false hair and beard, and with the muslin drapery managed to expose the stigmata: it was stretched upon a bed strewn with artificial flowers; and it was dreadful. But the poor soul at her devotions there prayed to it in an ecstasy of supplication, flinging her arms asunder with imploring gesture, clasping her hands and bowing her head upon them, while her person swayed from side to side in the abandon of her prayer. Who could she be, and what was her mighty need of blessing or forgiveness? As her wont was, Kitty threw her own soul into the imagined case of the suppliant, the tragedy of her desire or sorrow. Yet, like all who suffer sympathetically, she was not without consolations unknown to the principal; and the waning afternoon, as it lit up the conventional ugliness of the old church, and the paraphernalia of its worship, relieved her emotional self-abandon with a remote sense of content, so that it may have been a jealousy for the integrity of her own revery, as well as a feeling for the poor woman,
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File: 0124_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman wearing a large red sombrero with a flower on it and a blue dress with a lot of flowers on it.
Caption: The image depicts a woman wearing a large, vibrant red sombrero, which is adorned with a floral pattern and a flower-shaped headpiece. She is facing away from the viewer, giving the impression that she is gazing into the distance. The background is a serene landscape with rolling hills and a clear sky, suggesting a peaceful and natural setting.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland by Various): Galloway Hills for his adherence to the Covenant. His son Thomas, the brother of Nanny, had been long outlawed, and was supposed, even by his sister--his only sister--to have effected his escape to America. It was a beautiful and peaceful evening in the months of harvest--all was cheerfulness around. The mirthful band was employed, at no great distance, in cutting down and collecting into sheaves and stooks the abundant crop; and the husbandman, with his coat deposited in the hedge at the end of the field, was as busily employed as any of his band. The voice of man and woman, lad and lass, master and servant, was mixed in one continuous flow of rustic wit and rural jest. The surface of the Frith was smooth as glass, and the Galloway Hills looked down from heaven, and up from beneath, with brows of serenity and friendship. One or two vessels were tiding it up in the midst of the stream, with a motion scarcely perceptible. They had all sails set, and looked as if suspended in a glassy network, half-way betwixt heaven and earth. The sun shone westward, near to his setting, and the white and softly-rolled clouds only served to make the blue of a clear sky still more deep and lovely. The lassie wi' the lint-white locks spread over an eye of bonny blue--
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File: 0125_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a necklace is standing in a field with a large moon in the background.
Caption: The image depicts a woman standing in a field of red flowers, facing away from the camera. She is wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a blue dress with a floral pattern. The background is a vibrant sunset, with a large, glowing moon in the sky.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (Prisoners of Chance by Randall Parrish): I can clearly recall the picture, as these two, so widely different, sat facing each other in silence, the golden sunshine checkered over them through an arch of limbs, the broad river shining away to the southward, and De Noyan resting upon his back, with face turned up toward the clear blue sky. The woman, with her soft silken hair smoothed back from the wide, white brow, her intelligent face lighted by eyes of deepest brown, looking, what in truth she was, the aristocratic daughter of a gentleman of France, one whose home had ever been amid refinements of civilization, and whose surroundings those of love and courtesy. Even there, in the heart of that wilderness, the social training of years remained paramount, and she sat silent, toying with untasted food, out of respect to this stranger guest. And he, with shoulders so abnormally broad as to appear deformed, clad in sober Puritan garb, ate serenely on, unconscious of her glances, making use of both his huge hands in the operation, his little gimlet eyes twinkling greedily, his head, oddly resembling a cone, blazing like a fire whenever a ray of sun chanced to fall across it. I noticed he occasionally stole shy glances at her, nor could I wonder, for, in spite of fatigue and exposure, Madame remained a winsome sight, to do the heart of any man good to look upon.
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File: 0126_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman wearing a necklace with multiple strands of pearls and a pendant with a green and blue design
Caption: The image showcases a woman adorned with a multitude of pearl necklaces, each adorned with a unique pendant. The woman's attire is a dark green dress, and the background is blurred, drawing focus to the jewelry. The necklace is displayed in a close-up shot, emphasizing the intricate details of the pearl and gemstone jewelry.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Sister Carrie by Theodore Dreiser): The latter departed, and at one o'clock reappeared, stunningly arrayed in a dark-blue walking dress, with a nobby hat to match. Carrie had gotten herself up charmingly enough, but this woman pained her by contrast. She seemed to have so many dainty little things which Carrie had not. There were trinkets of gold, an elegant green leather purse set with her initials, a fancy handkerchief, exceedingly rich in design, and the like. Carrie felt that she needed more and better clothes to compare with this woman, and that any one looking at the two would pick Mrs. Vance for her raiment alone. It was a trying, though rather unjust thought, for Carrie had now developed an equally pleasing figure, and had grown in comeliness until she was a thoroughly attractive type of her colour of beauty. There was some difference in the clothing of the two, both of quality and age, but this difference was not especially noticeable. It served, however, to augment Carrie's dissatisfaction with her state.
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File: 0127_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with a necklace and flowers on her head is looking at the camera
Caption: The image depicts a woman with a serene expression, wearing a beige dress with lace details and a necklace with a pendant. She is adorned with a large bouquet of red and white flowers in her hair, adding a touch of elegance to her appearance. The background is dark, creating a dramatic effect that draws the viewer's attention to the woman.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue: When the drawing-room door opened and Dorothea entered, there was a sort of contrast not infrequent in country life when the habits of the different ranks were less blent than now. Let those who know, tell us exactly what stuff it was that Dorothea wore in those days of mild autumn—that thin white woollen stuff soft to the touch and soft to the eye. It always seemed to have been lately washed, and to smell of the sweet hedges—was always in the shape of a pelisse with sleeves hanging all out of the fashion. Yet if she had entered before a still audience as Imogene or Cato’s daughter, the dress might have seemed right enough: the grace and dignity were in her limbs and neck; and about her simply parted hair and candid eyes the large round poke which was then in the fate of women, seemed no more odd as a head-dress than the gold trencher we call a halo. By the present audience of two persons, no dramatic heroine could have been expected with more interest than Mrs. Casaubon. To Rosamond she was one of those county divinities not mixing with Middlemarch mortality, whose slightest marks of manner or appearance were worthy of her study; moreover, Rosamond was not without satisfaction that Mrs. Casaubon should have an opportunity of studying _her_. What is the use of being exquisite if you are not seen by the best judges? and since Rosamond had received the highest compliments at Sir Godwin Lydgate’s, she felt quite confident of the impression she must make on people of good birth. Dorothea put out her hand with her
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File: 0128_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman in an orange dress with a necklace and bracelet is looking up at flowers
Caption: The image depicts a woman with curly hair, wearing a red dress adorned with flowers and a necklace. She is shown from the side, with her face turned towards the right side of the image. The background is a vibrant mix of red and orange hues, with a floral pattern that adds a touch of color to the scene.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (An Obscure Apostle by Eliza Orzeszko): Golda's face shown with joy. She took from Meir's hand a jack-knife and rushed toward the pond. Now, when she felt safe under the protection of a strong arm, when there was hope of giving pleasure to the old grandfathers she lost the gravity which gave her the appearance of a matured woman. She ran along, looking from time to time at Meir who followed her, calling her she-goat, who turned toward her from the opposite side of the meadow. They stopped on the shore. The most flexible willow grass grew in the water, a few steps from the bank. In the twinkling of an eye Golda threw off her low shoes, and rolling up her dress she entered the water. Meir remained on the shore and watched the girl, as raising her arms, she began to swiftly cut the pliable branches. In the mean time she laughed, and her parted lips disclosed rows of teeth as white and beautiful as pearls. The glare of the last dazzling rays bathed her swarthy face with a pinkish light, and gilded the black crown of hair twined above her brow.
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File: 0129_with-woman.png
Summary: the image is a portrait of a woman with a skull on her head and wings. she is surrounded by a fiery background
Caption: The image is a digital painting that depicts a woman with a skeletal face and wings. The woman is adorned with a red and black dress, and her arms are outstretched, reaching towards the sky. The background is a fiery red, with a glowing orb in the top right corner, adding a sense of intensity to the scene.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (This is not a Story by Denis Diderot): Meanwhile the poor woman was coming to a little bit. At these last words she regained enough energy: `what did he say about the loss of his time? I learned four languages to ease his workload, I read a thousand volumes, I wrote, translated, copied day and night, I exhausted myself, wore out my eyes, boiled my blood, I came down with an awful illness from which I may never recover. He does not dare tell you the cause of his displeasure, but you will see. At that instant she pulled out her handkerchief, withdrew one of her arms from her dress, bared one of her shoulders, and, showing me an erysipelatus mark, `The reason for his transformation, there it is, she said to me, `there it is, there is the effect of those sleepless nights. It came one morning with these rolls of parchment. M. dHrouville, he told me, is very anxious to know what is in these, this work has to be done by tomorrow, and it was... At that moment we heard someones steps coming towards the door. It was a servant announcing M. dHrouvilles arrival. Gardeils face went pale. I invited Mademoiselle de La Chaux to withdraw and tidy herself up... `No, she said. `No. I am staying. I want this disgrace uncovered. I will wait for M. dHrouville. I will speak to him. `And what good will that do? `None, she answered me, `you are right. `Tomorrow you will regret it. Leave him his evil deeds; it is a revenge worthy of you. `But is it worthy of him? Do you not see that this man here is not... Lets go, monsieur, let us leave now, for I can neither answer for what I would do, nor for what I would say...
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File: 0130_with-woman.png
Summary: woman in uniform steering ship with cityscape in the background
Caption: The image depicts a woman standing on a boat, wearing a black hat with a gold badge and a dark green coat. She is holding onto the boat's steering wheel with her right hand, and her left hand is resting on her chest. The background features a body of water with a few buildings visible in the distance, suggesting a coastal or harbor setting.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (The Ranch Girls in Europe by Margaret Vandercook): Neither had the wayfarer trusted entirely to her own judgment. In spite of Ruth's repeated warnings against talking to strangers, she had once accosted a man in a queer uniform, thinking him a policeman. He wore a dark blue coat, blue-gray trousers, a white cap and belt, so how could a newcomer have known him to be a member of the Roman garrison? However, when once the soldier had discovered Frieda's desire, his directions were so explicit, so accompanied by much waving of his hand and statements of "destra" (right) and "sinistra" (left), that Frieda believed her way clear at last. Nevertheless, though doing exactly what she believed she had been told, the result was the same. Frieda had again to return to her fountain, a now painfully familiar spot. In the course of this wandering, however, she had passed an ancient church with a high flight of steps, where she paused to gaze for a few moments in awe and wonder. A number of pilgrims were climbing the wooden steps on their knees and children were running about among them offering rosaries and small wooden images for sale. Frieda had purchased a St. Joseph and then regretted her investment, for at least half the crowd of children followed her back to her resting place. They were still whining about her begging for pennies, when some time ago she had given them all the change she had. Yet they would _not_ leave her alone. Happening to glance down at her arm Frieda now made the painful discovery that her beloved gold-link purse had disappeared. Still the poor child had her
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File: 0131_with-woman.png
Summary: woman posing in a snowy forest with a scarf and earrings
Caption: The image depicts a woman standing in a snowy forest, wearing a green jacket and a brown scarf. She is looking directly at the camera with a neutral expression. The background is filled with snow-covered trees, creating a serene and picturesque setting.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (Bird Stories by Edith M. Patch): Chick's Christmas-trees were decorated, and no house in the whole world had one lovelier that morning than the hundreds that were all about him as far as he could see. The dark-green branches of the pines and cedars had held themselves out like arms waiting to be filled, and the snow had been dropped on them in fluffy masses, by a quiet, windless storm. It had been very soft and lovely that way--a world all white and green below, with a sky of wonderful blue that the firs pointed to like steeples. Then, as if that were not decoration enough, another storm had come, and had put on the glitter that was brightest at the edge of the forest where the sun shone on it. The second storm had covered the soft white with dazzling ice. It had swept across the white-barked birch trees and their purple-brown branches, and had left them shining all over. It had dripped icicles from the tips of all the twigs that now shone in the sunlight brighter than candles, and tinkled like little bells, when the breezes clicked them together, in a tune that is called, "Woodland Music after an Ice-Storm."
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File: 0132_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman wearing a knitted hat and a fur coat with multiple necklaces and a necklace with a pendant
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long, wavy hair, wearing a knitted hat and a fur-lined coat. She is standing in a forest, with trees in the background. The woman is looking directly at the camera, conveying a sense of calm and introspection.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Atlantis by Gerhart Hauptmann): Hans Fllenberg passed by. He was cracking jokes for everybody's benefit and flirting desperately with his Englishwoman, who had recovered from her seasickness. She had found a friend, a woman in a fur cap and coat, with a magnificent crown of light hair, like a Swedish woman's. She seemed to be greatly amused by Fllenberg's poor jokes and poor English. He had abstracted her muff and was alternately conveying it to his stomach, his heart, and--this very passionately--his mouth. The young American jackanapes was promenading with his Canadian, who looked very haughty and blas, yet much fresher. The delicate creature seemed to be shivering with cold, though she was wearing an elegant coat of Canadian sable, which reached to her knees. Frederick greeted the clothing manufacturer, whom his steward had helped up on deck. He had been lying in his cabin more dead than alive, and his steward had been feeding him on nothing but Malaga grapes.
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File: 0133_with-woman.png
Summary: woman with fire in her hair in front of a dark background
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long blonde hair, wearing a red dress, standing in front of a dark background. The woman's hair is illuminated by a bright, glowing fire that is positioned behind her head, creating a dramatic and intense visual effect. The fire appears to be a stylized representation of a flame, with a bright, orange-yellow glow that contrasts with the dark background.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (The Continental Monthly, Vol. 2, No 3, September, 1862 by Various): 'I said that but for one circumstance, that face would have been beautiful beyond description. And yet no human eye ever looked upon a face more hideously fearful than it was in reality. Even a momentary glance could not be cast upon it without a shudder, and a longer gaze involved a species of horrible fascination which affected one like a nightmare. You do not understand yet what was this remarkable and most hideous feature. I can scarcely find words to describe it to you so that you can catch the full force of the idea--I must try, however. You have often seen Mephistopheles in his flame-colored dress, and caught some kind of impression that the face was of the same hue, though the fact was that it was of the natural color, and only affected by the lurid character of the dress and by the Satanic penciling of the eyebrows! You have? Well, this face was really what that seemed for the moment to be. It was redder than blood-red as fire, and yet so strangely did the flame-color play through it that you knew no paint laid upon the skin could have produced the effect. It almost seemed that the skin and the whole mass of flesh were transparent, and that the red color came from some kind of fire or light within, as the red bottle in a druggist's window might glow when you were standing full in front of it, and the gas was turned on to full height behind. Every feature--brow, nose, lips, chin, even the eyes themselves, and their very pupil seemed to be pervaded and permeated by this lurid flame; and it was impossible for
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File: 0134_with-woman.png
Summary: The woman is wearing a brown and gold patterned robe and has her hands clasped together.
Caption: The image depicts a woman dressed in a traditional African outfit, which appears to be a vibrant, patterned garment with intricate designs. She is seated in a relaxed pose, with her hands clasped together in front of her, suggesting a moment of contemplation or meditation. The background is a dark, textured wall adorned with gold-colored tiles, adding a warm and elegant ambiance to the scene.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue: A stone cottage of the everyday sort stood a trifle back from the road and bore over its front door a sign announcing that Mrs. Bruce, Flesher, carried on her business within; and indeed one could look through the windows and see ruddy joints hanging from beams, and piles of pink-and-white steaks and chops lying neatly on the counter, crying, 'Come, eat me!' Nevertheless, one's first glance would be arrested neither by Mrs Bruce's black-and-gold sign, nor by the enticements of her stock-in-trade, because one's attention is rapped squarely between the eyes by an astonishing shape that arises from the patch of lawn in front of the cottage, and completely dominates the scene. Imagine yourself face to face with the last thing you would expect to see in a modest front dooryard,--the figurehead of a ship, heroic in size, gorgeous in colour, majestic in pose! A female personage it appears to be from the drapery, which is the only key the artist furnishes as to sex, and a queenly female withal, for she wears a crown at least a foot high, and brandishes a forbidding sceptre. All this seen from the front, but the rear view discloses the fact that the lady terminates in the tail of a fish which wriggles artistically in mid-air and is of a brittle sort, as it has evidently been thrice broken and glued together.
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File: 0135_with-woman.png
Summary: artist's portrait of a woman in a blue shirt with clouds on it.
Caption: The image is a watercolor painting of a woman. She has short, curly hair and is wearing a light blue shirt with a pattern of clouds on it. The background is a light beige color, and the painting is signed in the bottom right corner with the name "Hertz 1944".
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (A Noble Name by Claire Von Gluemer): upon anything save dress and society. Nevertheless, she is admirably endowed intellectually as well as physically, and the charm that she had for me when I first saw her has grown with time. There is something odd and striking about her that rivets one's interest. She is really short in stature, and yet her graceful lithe figure in her long trains seems that of a tall, slender woman; her hair is light brown or golden, according as the light falls on it; her eyes one would call blue, another gray, and a third green, and they would all be right; her smile is that of a child, but in an instant there will be something arch, mocking, even sneering, in it. One moment she will call me awkward, pedantic, the next I am her comfort, her stay, the friend for whom she has been longing. For a moment her whim will be enthusiasm, and on a sudden she will turn herself and everybody else into ridicule. Whether she enjoys doing this or not I cannot say; I suspect she hardly knows herself.
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File: 0136_with-woman.png
Summary: The woman is wearing a headdress made of flowers and has a necklace with beads.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with a headdress composed of a variety of flowers and foliage, including roses, and adorned with a necklace of beads and chains. The woman's attire consists of a dark, intricately designed garment that appears to be made of a fabric with a subtle pattern.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Hardy Perennials and Old Fashioned Flowers by John Wood): It is probable that the genus _Euonymus_ is more generally known than that of _Celastrus_, from which the order takes its name; besides, the latter is composed of unfamiliar genera, so it is more likely that the reader will not care about any reference to them; it may concern him more to know that the above somewhat long name belongs to a very dwarf hardy evergreen shrub, having a neat habit and very beautiful foliage. This variety is one of many forms which come under the name _E. japonicus_, none of which, however, have long been cultivated in this country, the date of the introduction of the type being 1804. The genus is remarkable for the number of its species having ornamental foliage, and not less so, perhaps, for the insignificance of their flowers. The species under notice (_E. japonicus_) in cultivation has proved sportive, which habit has been taken advantage of, whence the numerous forms, including the one I have selected for these remarks. Some of the Spindle Trees do not flower in this climate, and others, which do, produce no seed; these facts are in connection with the more finely leaf-marked sorts, and it may be inferred that such unfruitfulness arises from their hybrid nature or abnormal tendency, as seen in "sports."
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File: 0137_with-woman.png
Summary: young woman with long wavy hair, wearing a dark coat, looking at the camera, with a blurred background of lights.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long, wavy hair, wearing a dark coat and a brown scarf. She is standing in front of a blurred background, which suggests that she is in a public place, possibly a street or a park. The lighting in the image is warm, with a soft glow that gives the scene a cozy and intimate atmosphere.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (The Stretton Street Affair by William Le Queux): "Well," she said, drawing a long breath. "One night about twelve months ago I was at a private dance at the house of a friend in Holland Park, when I was introduced to a young married woman named Cullerton, the wife of a man on the Stock Exchange. I rather liked her, and as she invited me to a small dance which she gave a week later we soon became friends. One day, while we were walking together in Bond Street we met Mr. De Gex, the great financier, to whom she introduced me. His car was standing at the kerb, so he took us back to tea at his house in Stretton Street. While we were at tea a tall, dark Spanish-looking girl came in and was introduced to us as Gabrielle Engledue. As we sat at tea we laughed over the similarity of our names, and she told me that though her mother had been English she had lived all her life in Madrid, and had been over here for the purpose of studying English. She had been staying with a family somewhere in Essex, but was now at an hotel in London, for she was returning to Madrid in a few days. I rather liked her, and as Mr. De Gex was charming to us both, I accepted his invitation to dine there a few days later. I did not tell mother about this, for I feared that being rather old-fashioned she might disapprove of my new friendships. We had a delightful dinner, and Mr. De Gex took us all three to the theatre afterwards, and drove each of us home. I was the first, and he put me down at the corner of Earl's Court Road.
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File: 0138_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with long red hair is in a pool at night with red lights in the background
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long, wavy hair, standing in a body of water. The water is reflecting the warm hues of the sunset, creating a serene and picturesque scene. The woman's gaze is directed towards the camera, adding a sense of intimacy and focus to the image.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (A Nobleman's Nest by Ivan Turgenieff): he noticed that all the persons in it treated Mikhalevitch like an old friend. The performance on the stage ceased to interest Lavretzky; Motchaloff himself, although that evening he was "in high feather," did not produce upon him the customary impression. In one very pathetic passage, Lavretzky involuntarily glanced at his beauty: she was bending her whole body forward, her cheeks were aflame; under the influence of his persistent gaze, her eyes, which were riveted on the stage, turned slowly, and rested upon him.... All night long, those eyes flitted before his vision. At last, the artificially erected dam had given way: he trembled and burned, and on the following day he betook himself to Mikhalevitch. From him he learned, that the beauty's name was Varvara Pavlovna Korobyn; that the old man and woman who had sat with her in the box were her father and mother, and that he himself, Mikhalevitch, had made their acquaintance a year previously, during his stay in the suburbs of Moscow, "on contract service" (as tutor) with Count N. The enthusiast expressed himself in the most laudatory manner concerning Varvara Pavlovna--"My dear fellow," he exclaimed, with the impetuous harmony in his voice which was peculiar to him,--"that young girl is an amazing, a talented being, an artist in the genuine sense of the word, and extremely amiable to boot."--Perceiving from Lavretzky's question what an impression Varvara Pavlovna had produced upon him, he himself proposed to introduce him to her, adding that he was quite at home in
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File: 0139_with-woman.png
Summary: woman in a dress with lace details, looking down, sitting on a chair, with a lamp in the background.
Caption: The image depicts a woman seated in a room, dressed in a light-colored dress with lace details. She is wearing a necklace and has her hands clasped in her lap. The room has a warm, cozy atmosphere, with a lamp on the left side of the image casting a soft light.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (Old and New London by Walter Thornbury): "In 1820 a ray of light strikes the Buildings, for one of the least popular, but by no means the least remarkable, of the Charles Lamb set came to lodge at No. 9, half-way down on the right-hand side as you come from Holborn. There for four years lived, taught, wrote, and suffered that admirable essayist, fine-art and theatrical critic, thoughtful metaphysician, and miserable man, William Hazlitt. He lodged at the house of Mr. Walker, a tailor, who was blessed with two fair daughters, with one of whom (Sarah) Hazlitt, then a married man, fell madly in love. He declared she was like the Madonna (she seems really to have been a cold, calculating flirt, rather afraid of her wild lover). To his 'Liber Amoris,' a most stultifying series of dialogues between himself and the lodging-house keeper's daughter, the author appended a drawing of an antique gem (Lucretia), which he declared to be the very image of the obdurate tailor's daughter. This untoward but remarkably gifted man, whom Lamb admired, if he did not love, and whom Leigh Hunt regarded as a spirit highly endowed, usually spent his evenings at the 'Southampton;' as we take it, that coffee-house on the left hand, next the Patent Office, as you enter the Buildings from Chancery Lane. It is an unpretending public-house now, with the quiet, bald-looking coffee-room altered, but still one likes to wander past the place and think that Hazlitt, his hand still warm with the grip of Lamb's, has entered it often. In an essay on 'Coffee-House Politicians,' in the
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File: 0140_with-woman.png
Summary: The image depicts a woman with a large, elaborate headdress made of gold and silver, adorned with numerous small, spherical objects that seem to be floating in the air. The woman is facing to the right, and her face is partially obscured by the headdress.
Caption: The image presents a stylized, three-dimensional representation of a woman, rendered in a golden hue, with a textured, organic-looking hairstyle that resembles a flower. The hairstyle is composed of numerous, intricately designed, golden flowers, each with a central stem and radiating outwards in a radial pattern.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that beauty is always in negotiation with time.
Monologue (The Industrial Arts in Spain by Juan F. Riaño): It is extremely difficult to give in so small a space the description of the works and names of the numerous artists on silver and gold work, who worked in Spain during the 16th century. At the present time, notwithstanding the innumerable objects lost, a long list would remain of the specimens which have reached us, and their different forms and applications, still visible in the churches of Toledo, Seville, Zaragoza, Palencia, Santiago, and others of the Spanish peninsula. Some idea may be gathered of the importance this art attained in Spain by looking through the following list of artists who worked in silver and gold, upwards of 450 of whom I have added to the 95 given by Cean in his dictionary. It must be borne in mind that the objects on a large scale which reproduce an architectural model, adopt three styles during the century, all three of them admirable as regards beauty of form. The first is Gothic, a reminiscence of the former time, improved by the change which had already taken place, in drawing and modelling. The second style is known by the name of _plateresque_, when applied to architecture, and consists in copying the general structure of buildings in the classical style, and applying the orders and pointed arch, while keeping to the profusion of decoration of the earlier period, and modifying the general plan with the object of introducing the greatest quantity of ornamentation. The third style is the Greco-Roman; it is more sober in decoration, and has a greater tendency to keep to the
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File: 0141_with-woman.png
Summary: The image depicts a woman with long dark hair, wearing a red dress, standing in front of a colorful background with a sunburst pattern.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long, dark hair, styled in a loose bun, wearing a red garment. The background is a vibrant, abstract painting with a large sunburst design in the center, surrounded by a variety of colorful circular shapes. The woman is facing away from the viewer, giving a sense of depth and perspective to the image.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue: Approaching Peters' house I saw now, what the darkness had hidden from me, that on his balcony was someone--quite alone there. The balcony is a slight open-work wrought-iron structure, connected to a small roof by three slender voluted pillars, two at the ends, one in the middle: and at the middle one I saw someone, a woman--kneeling--her arms clasped tight about the pillar, and her face rather upward-looking. Never did I see aught more horrid: there were the gracious curves of the woman's bust and hips still well preserved in a clinging dress of red cloth, very faded now; and her reddish hair floated loose in a large flimsy cloud about her; but her face, in that exposed position, had been quite eaten away by the winds to a noseless skeleton, which grinned from ear to ear, with slightly-dropped under-jaw--most horrid in contrast with the body, and frame of hair. I meditated upon her a long time that morning from the opposite pavement. An oval locket at her throat contained, I knew, my likeness: for eight years previously I had given it her. It was Clodagh, the poisoner.
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File: 0142_with-woman.png
Summary: woman with long blonde hair posing in front of a mountain at sunset.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long, wavy blonde hair, wearing a black dress, standing in a field with a blurred background. The woman's expression is serious, and she is looking directly at the camera. The lighting in the image is soft and natural, suggesting that the photo was taken during the golden hour.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue: True enough, nature meant her for a heartsome lass. Her hair was dark, and had a tangled look, as though lately caught in brambles or still thick with burrs. Her dark eyebrows and long lashes shaded the darkest of black-brown eyes. Her mouth was alive with sensibility. Every shade of feeling could play upon her face. Her dress was loose, and somewhat negligently worn; one never felt its presence or knew whether it were poor or fine. Her voice, though soft, was generally high-pitched, not like the whirl of wind through the trees, but like its sigh through the long grass, and came, perhaps, to the mountain girl from the effort to converse above the sound of these natural voices. There was a tremor in her voice sometimes, and, when she was taken unawares, a sidelong look in her eyes. There was something about her in these serious moods that laid hold of the imagination. She had surely a well of strength which had been given for her own support and the solace of others at some future moment, only too terrible. But not to-night, as she tripped along under the moonlight, did the consciousness of that moment overshadow her.
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File: 0143_with-woman.png
Summary: woman wearing a hat and a dress with a flower on it, posing in front of a sunset, with a building in the background.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long blonde hair, wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat, and a floral dress. She is standing outdoors, with the sun setting in the background, casting a warm glow over the scene. The woman appears to be posing for a photo, with her head turned slightly to the right, giving a sense of engagement and attention to the viewer.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Gabriel Conroy by Bert Harte): I should like to sketch her as she sat there. A broad-brimmed straw hat covered her head, that although squared a little too much at the temples for shapeliness, was still made comely by the good taste with which--aided by a crimping-iron--she had treated her fine-spun electrical blonde hair. The heat had brought out a delicate dewy colour in her usually pale face, and had heightened the intense nervous brightness of her vivid grey eyes. From the same cause, probably, her lips were slightly parted, so that the rigidity that usually characterised their finely chiselled outlines was lost. She looked healthier; the long flowing skirts which she affected, after the fashion of most _petite_ women, were gathered at a waist scarcely as sylph-like and unsubstantial as that which Gabriel first clasped after the accident in the fateful caon. She seemed a trifle more languid--more careful of her personal comfort, and spent some time in adjusting herself to the inequalities of her uncouth seat with a certain pouting peevishness of manner that was quite as new to her character as it was certainly feminine and charming. She held the open note in her thin, narrow, white-tipped fingers, and glanced over it again with a slight smile. It read as follows:--
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File: 0144_with-woman.png
Summary: young woman posing in a beach setting with a serene ocean in the background.
Caption: The image depicts a young woman with wavy brown hair, wearing a light green dress with a knot at the waist. She is standing on a beach, with the ocean in the background. The woman is looking to the right, possibly at something in the distance.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (The Garden Of Allah by Robert Hichens): Steps sounded on the path behind them, going faster than they were, and presently Domini saw her fellow-traveller striding along, accompanied by a young Arab who was carrying the green bag. The stranger was looking straight before him down the tunnel, and he went by swiftly. But his guide had something to say to Batouch, and altered his pace to keep beside them for a moment. He was a very thin, lithe, skittish-looking youth, apparently about twenty-three years old, with a chocolate-brown skin, high cheek bones, long, almond-shaped eyes twinkling with dissipated humour, and a large mouth that smiled showing pointed white teeth. A straggling black moustache sprouted on his upper lip, and long coarse strands of jet-black hair escaped from under the front of a fez that was pushed back on his small head. His neck was thin and long, and his hands were wonderfully delicate and expressive, with rosy and quite perfect nails. When he laughed he had a habit of throwing his head forward and tucking in his chin, letting the tassel of his fez fall over his temple to left or right. He was dressed in white with a burnous, and had a many-coloured piece of silk with frayed edges wound about his waist, which was as slim as a young girl's.
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File: 0145_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with curly hair wearing a green shirt and a brown vest is standing in a forest
Caption: The image depicts a woman with curly hair, wearing a green shirt and a brown vest over it. She is standing in a forest, with dense foliage and a misty atmosphere surrounding her. The woman's expression is serious, and she appears to be looking directly at the camera.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (A Nobleman's Nest by Ivan Turgenieff): Dinner-time arrived. Marfa Timofeevna came down-stairs when the soup was already standing on the table. She treated Varvara Pavlovna very coolly, replying with half-words to her amiabilities, and not looking at her. Varvara Pavlovna herself speedily comprehended that she could do nothing with the old woman, and ceased to address her; on the other hand, Marya Dmitrievna became more affectionate than ever with her guest: her aunt's discourtesy enraged her. However, Varvara Pavlovna was not the only person at whom Marfa Timofeevna refused to look: she never cast a glance at Liza, either, although her eyes fairly flashed. She sat like a stone image, all sallow, pale, with tightly compressed lips--and ate nothing. Liza seemed to be composed; and, as a matter of fact, all had become more tranquil in her soul; a strange insensibility, the insensibility of the man condemned to death, had come upon her. At dinner Varvara Pavlovna talked little: she seemed to have become timid once more, and spread over her face an expression of modest melancholy. Gedeonovsky alone enlivened the conversation with his tales, although he kept casting cowardly glances at Marfa Timofeevna, and a cough and tickling in the throat seized upon him every time that he undertook to lie in her presence,--but she did not hinder him, she did not interrupt him. After dinner it appeared that Varvara Pavlovna was extremely fond of preference; this pleased Marya Dmitrievna to such a degree, that she even became greatly affected, and thought to herself:--"But what a fool
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File: 0146_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with long curly hair and a flowing dress is surrounded by a fiery aura
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long, curly hair, dressed in a black dress that is adorned with intricate, glowing patterns. The woman is positioned in the center of the image, with her arms outstretched, creating a sense of movement and energy. The background is a dark, fiery hue, adding to the dramatic effect of the scene.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (The Deputy of Arcis by Honore de Balzac): Provincial life and the rather careless style of dress into which, for the last ten years, Severine had allowed herself to fall, gave a somewhat common air to that noble profile and those beautiful features; increasing plumpness was destroying the outlines of a figure magnificently fine during the first twelve years of her married life. But Severine redeemed these growing imperfections with a sovereign, superb, imperious glance, and a certain haughty carriage of her head. Her hair, still black and thick and long, was raised high upon her head, giving her a youthful look. Her shoulders and bosom were snowy, but they now rose puffily in a manner to obstruct the free movement of the neck, which had grown too short. Her plump and dimpled arms ended in pretty little hands that were, alas, too fat. She was, in fact, so overdone with fulness of life and health that her flesh formed a little pad, as one might call it, above her shoes. Two ear-drops, worth about three-thousand francs each, adorned her ears. She wore a lace cap with pink ribbons, a mousseline-de-laine gown in pink and gray stripes with an edging of green, opened at the bottom to show a petticoat trimmed with valencienne lace; and a green cashmere shawl with palm-leaves, the point of which reached the ground as she walked.
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File: 0147_with-woman.png
Summary: The woman is wearing a golden outfit with jewels and has a serious expression.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long, curly black hair, adorned with a headpiece that features multiple gemstones and a crown-like headpiece. The woman's face is turned towards the viewer, and she is wearing a dark, ornate dress with intricate gold and blue patterns. The background is shrouded in mist, creating a mystical atmosphere.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Missy by Dana Gatlin): ... the face is more than pretty, it is lovely--the fair, sweet, childish face, framed in by its yellow hair; her great velvety eyes, now misty through vain longing, are blue as the skies above her; her nose is pure Greek; her forehead low, but broad, is partly shrouded by little wandering threads of gold that every now and then break loose from bondage, while her lashes, long and dark, curl upward from her eyes, as though hating to conceal the beauty of the exquisite azure within... There is a certain haughtiness about her that contrasts curiously but pleasantly with her youthful expression and laughing, kissable mouth. She is straight and lissome as a young ash tree; her hands and feet are small and well-shaped; in a word, she is chic from the crown of her fair head down to her little arched instep...
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File: 0148_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with wings and a halo of light in a dark blue and orange nebula
Caption: The image depicts a woman with wings, standing in a cosmic landscape filled with stars and glowing energy. The woman is dressed in a black dress that is adorned with intricate patterns and has a flowing texture. Her wings are spread out, adding to the sense of movement and power.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Massimilla Doni by Honore de Balzac): The shelving gardens were full of the marvels where money has been turned into rocky grottoes and patterns of shells,--the very madness of craftsmanship,--terraces laid out by the fairies, arbors of sterner aspect, where the cypress on its tall trunk, the triangular pines, and the melancholy olive mingled pleasingly with orange trees, bays, and myrtles, and clear pools in which blue or russet fishes swam. Whatever may be said in favor of the natural or English garden, these trees, pruned into parasols, and yews fantastically clipped; this luxury of art so skilfully combined with that of nature in Court dress; those cascades over marble steps where the water spreads so shyly, a filmy scarf swept aside by the wind and immediately renewed; those bronzed metal figures speechlessly inhabiting the silent grove; that lordly palace, an object in the landscape from every side, raising its light outline at the foot of the Alps,--all the living thoughts which animate the stone, the bronze, and the trees, or express themselves in garden plots,--this lavish prodigality was in perfect keeping with the loves of a duchess and a handsome youth, for they are a poem far removed from the coarse ends of brutal nature.
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File: 0149_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman in a dark, wet, and stormy environment, holding a knife, with a cityscape in the background.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with wet hair, dressed in a dark, textured garment, standing in a dimly lit, urban environment. She is holding a knife in her right hand, which is close to the camera. The background is filled with various elements, including a building with a large window, a street lamp, and a few other people.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (Ladies-In-Waiting by Kate Douglas Wiggin): Duke had separated himself from the little group and was swinging his hat to Dorothea; but I could not explain why the two men were not standing nearer together and what was the meaning of the wheeled chair, with the nurse's head rising above the back. The identity of the person in the chair was hidden by a tiny black frilled parasol with a handle bent in the middle so that it could be used for a shield. Did I know that little old-fashioned sunshade? I did! It was the property of some one whose belongings had a certain air of difference from those of other people. She lifted it at last, as we came close to the dock, and I met Ellen Winthrop's affectionate, welcoming glance. Her eyes swam in unshed tears, and mine were so wet I could see only dimly that her beautiful hair was a shade whiter, her face paler and thinner, that she had aged mysteriously in a month, and the hand that was holding the parasol trembled like a leaf. She had been very ill; there was no doubt of that. She had been ordered a voyage, and I felt that she had chosen this one because she knew Clive's wish. That meant she was willing to welcome me into the heart of the family; perhaps even that she wished to help me fit myself to take her own unique place in her brother's life. Oh, what joy to feel that I could not only take freely all that my chief wanted to give me, but that I could be of real service to her!
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File: 0150_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with long curly hair is sitting in a cave with a sword in her hand.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long, wavy hair, dressed in a dark, hooded cloak. She is seated on the ground, with her hands resting on her knees. The background is shrouded in mist, creating an ethereal atmosphere.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (Is He Popenjoy? by Anthony Trollope): In the meantime Lord George, ignorant as yet of the storm which was brewing at home, was shown into his brother's sitting-room. When he entered he found there, with his brother, a lady whom he could recognise without difficulty as his sister-in-law. She was a tall, dark woman, as he thought very plain, but with large bright eyes and very black hair. She was ill-dressed, in a morning wrapper, and looked to him to be at least as old as her husband. The Marquis said something to her in Italian which served as an introduction, but of which Lord George could not understand a word. She curtseyed and Lord George put out his hand. "It is perhaps as well that you should make her acquaintance," said the Marquis. Then he again spoke in Italian, and after a minute or two the lady withdrew. It occurred to Lord George afterwards that the interview had certainly been arranged. Had his brother not wished him to see the lady, the lady could have been kept in the background here as well as at Manor Cross. "It's uncommon civil of you to come," said the Marquis as soon as the door was closed. "What can I do for you?"
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File: 0151_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with a crown and earrings is in a purple and blue color scheme
Caption: The image depicts a portrait of a woman with a crown on her head. The crown is adorned with intricate designs and features a blue gem in the center. The woman's face is serene, with her eyes closed and her head tilted slightly to the right.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue: With a quick, energetic movement, as she spoke she unclasped the heavy waterproof cloak of the sufferer and threw it back, thus revealing a fair, pallid face, framed in loosened curls of silky golden hair. It was a face that must have looked singularly lovely when tinted with the rosy hues of health, so delicate were the features and so large and blue the half-closed eyes, but it was ghastly pale, and a livid, bluish tinge had settled around the small mouth, whose ruby hues had fled to give place to a sickly purple. The steward speedily returned with some brandy, the bull's-eye was thrown open, and the cold sea air and potent spirit soon asserted their restorative powers. She sat up, a more natural color over-spreading her countenance, and she murmured inarticulately a few words of thanks, while the kind-hearted steward hastened away again in search of the doctor.
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File: 0152_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman in a black robe sits on a rock with a halo above her head
Caption: The image depicts a woman seated on a rock, her head bowed in a contemplative pose. She is dressed in a black robe, which contrasts with the golden background. The background is adorned with a halo, adding a mystical and ethereal quality to the scene.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (From Bapaume to Passchendaele, 1917 by Philip Gibbs): As the thought was uttered the battle began. It began with one great roar of guns. Not only behind us but far to our right and left. Flights of shells passed over our heads as though long-tailed comets of the spheres had broken loose from the divine order of things. In a wide sweep round Lens they burst with sharp flashes and lighted fires there. Outside the Cit du Moulin, at the western edge of Lens, a long chain of golden fountains rose as though little mines had been blown, and they were followed by a high bank of white impenetrable smoke. On the right of Avion another smoke-barrage was discharged, and above it there rose one of the strangest things I have seen in war. It was the figure of a woman, colossal, so that her head seemed to reach the heavens. It was not a fanciful idea, as when men watch the shapes of clouds and say, "How like Gladstone!" or "There is a camel!" or "A ship!" This woman figure of white solid smoke was as though carved out of rock, and she seemed to stare across the battlefield, and stayed there unchanged for several minutes. The guns continued their fury. Rockets went up out of Avion, and the German guns answered these signals. There was one wild tumult of artillery beating down the lines southward to Oppy, and beyond and above and through and into all this violence of sound there was the roll and rattle of thunder--heavy claps--and the rattle of the storm-drums. Lightning flashed above the flashes of our batteries, gave a livid outline to black trees and chimneys, and pierced the heart of
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File: 0153_with-woman.png
Summary: woman with braided hair, wearing a green dress, looking at the camera, with a window in the background.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long, wavy hair styled in a braid, wearing a green dress. The woman's face is turned slightly to the right, giving a frontal view of her. She has piercing green eyes and a small nose, and her lips are painted a deep red.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (The Floating Light of the Goodwin Sands by R.M. Ballantyne): "But he is changed in other respects too, in a way that has filled my dear wife's heart with joy. Of course you are aware that he got no drink during the seven years of his imprisonment. Now that he is free he refuses to let a drop of anything stronger than water pass his lips. He thinks it is his only chance, and I believe he is right. He says that nothing but the thought of Nora, and the hope of one day being permitted to return to ask her forgiveness on his knees, enabled him to endure his long captivity with resignation. I do assure you, father, that it almost brings tears to my eyes to see the way in which that man humbles himself before his daughter. Nora's joy is far too deep for words, but it is written plainly in her face. She spent all her spare time with him at first, reading the Bible to him, and trying to convince him that it was not the thought of _her_, but God's mercy and love that had put it into his heart to repent, and desire to reform. He does not seem quite inclined to take that view of it, but he will come to it, sooner or later, for we have the sure promise that the Lord will finish the good work He has begun. We have hired a room for him in a little village within half a mile of us. It is small, but comfortable enough, and he seems to be quite content with it--as well he may be, with Nora and the children going constantly about him!
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File: 0154_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with a crown of flowers and leaves in her hair.
Caption: The image is a black and white illustration featuring a woman with a floral headpiece. The woman is positioned in the center of the image, with her face and headpiece prominently displayed. The background is filled with a dense pattern of leaves and branches, creating a sense of depth and texture.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Memoirs of the Jacobites of 1715 and 1745 by Mrs. Thomson): The office of honour was entrusted to the Marquis of Tullibardine, on account of his high rank and importance to the cause. The spot chosen for the ceremony was a knoll in the centre of the vale. Upon this little eminence the Marquis stood, supported on either side by men, for his health was infirm, and what we should now call a premature old age was fast approaching. The banner which it was his lot to unfurl displayed no motto, nor was there inscribed upon it the coffin and the crown which the vulgar notion in England assigned to it. It was simply a large banner of red silk, with a white space in the middle. The Marquis held the staff until the Manifesto of the Chevalier and the Commission of Regency had been read. In a few hours the glen in which this solemnity had been performed, was filled not only with Highlanders, but with ladies and gentlemen to admire the spectacle. Among them was the celebrated Miss, or, more properly, Mrs. Jeanie Cameron, whose passionate attachment for the Prince rendered her so conspicuous in the troublous period of 1745. The description given of her in Bishop Forbes's Jacobite Memoirs destroys much of the romance of the story commonly related of her. "She is a widow," he declares, "nearer fifty than forty years of age. She is a genteel, well-looking, handsome woman, with a pair of pretty eyes, and hair black as jet. She is of a very sprightly genius, and is very agreeable in conversation. She was so far from accompanying the Prince's army, that she went off with the rest of
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File: 0155_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with long wavy hair wearing glasses and a white dress with a deep neckline.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long, wavy hair styled in a braid, wearing a white dress with a plunging neckline. She is standing in a room with warm lighting, which gives off a pinkish hue. The woman is wearing large, earrings that are a mix of pink and blue, adding a pop of color to her outfit.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Cosmopolis, Complete by Paul Bourget): They knew of what presence of mind a courageous woman was capable, when surprised, as was the Venetian. All these have declared since that they had never imagined more admirable self-possession, a composure more superbly audacious, than that displayed by Madame Steno, at that decisive moment. She appeared on the threshold of the French window, surprised and delighted, just in the measure she conformably should be. Her fair complexion, which the slightest emotion tinged with carmine, was bewitchingly pink. Not a quiver of her long lashes veiled her deep blue eyes, which gleamed brightly. With her smile, which exhibited her lovely teeth, the color of the large pearls which were twined about her neck, with the emeralds in her fair hair, with her fine shoulders displayed by the slope of her white corsage, with her delicate waist, with the splendor of her arms from which she had removed the gloves to yield them to the caresses of Maitland, and which gleamed with more emeralds, with her carriage marked by a certain haughtiness, she was truly a woman of another age, the sister of those radiant princesses whom the painters of Venice evoke beneath the marble porticoes, among apostles and martyrs. She advanced to Maud Gorka, whom she embraced affectionately, then, pressing Boleslas’s hand, she said in a voice so warm, in which at times there were deep tones, softened by the habitual use of the caressing dialect of the lagoon:
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File: 0156_with-woman.png
Summary: woman in red jacket with a serious expression, looking at the camera, in a dimly lit street at night
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long, wavy hair, wearing a red jacket, standing in front of a blurred background of street lights and cars. The woman's expression is serious, and her gaze is directed towards the camera. The lighting in the image is soft and even, with no harsh shadows, suggesting that the photo was taken during the day.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Stubble by George Looms): The day that he had taken Myrtle Macomber up the river road had been Tuesday. On Wednesday he had risen, sluggish and weary, with an ache in his bones. A half-hearted, spasmodic attempt at work had ended at eleven o'clock. He had called up Myrtle. They went that afternoon to a ball-game. Thursday morning came, bright with promise, and a profitable forenoon was spent in the old hammer-and-tongs manner. By noon he had two orders in his pocket and felt quite exhausted. The heat drank up the very marrow from one's bones. He met Myrtle on the street. They had lunch together. All that afternoon they paddled about in the river and came home with hair wet and nerves sagging. Friday passed, a long dreary day. By the time five o'clock arrived Joe would willingly have sunk down on the cement pavement in some shaded corner, just to take his mind from the grip of the traffic. There was nothing in the selling of motor cars to give his mind anything to bite on. What was it kept him going, he asked himself? The answer suggested itself to him, but he shook it off and mused on. Summer was a dreary time. That night he dragged himself to Lytle Street. He found Miss Macomber waiting for him on the porch. She was wearing a Nile green sports suit of soft flannel, with white facings, and white shoes and stockings and a stiff sailor hat of white straw. As he came up the walk and approached the steps, he heard a scurrying and moving of chairs, and as he gained the porch he caught a glimpse of a scuttling
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File: 0157_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with long dark hair is looking up at a large red and orange volcano with a large plume of smoke and ash in the background.
Caption: The image depicts a woman standing in front of a dramatic, fiery landscape. The woman is positioned centrally in the frame, her face turned towards the viewer, and her eyes are wide open, suggesting she is in a state of surprise or shock. Her hair is long and dark, and she is wearing a red dress with a gold necklace.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (Red Rose and Tiger Lily by L. T. Meade): Having made a rough, and, in truth, a very distorted sketch of the dragons, she gathered up her colours and portfolio, and prepared to search farther afield for objects on which to expend her genius. She followed Susy into the octagon hall, but, seeing the wide front doors open, went out, and, crossing a by no means well-kept field, entered the paddock, where the colts, Joe and Robin, had disported themselves before their sale. The paddock was skirted by a copse of small fir-trees, and Antonia sniffed the air as she walked towards it. Antonia was in a rusty black dress, with very little material in the skirt, and an extremely long train, which she never held up. She had just got to the edge of the copse of young trees, and was preparing to make a sketch of their straight trunks with the delicate sunlight shining across them, when a strange noise attracted her attention. She dropped her colour box, uttered one of her affected little shrieks, and then dropped on her knees beside a child who was lying face downwards on the grass. The child's dark hair completely covered her face, but the sobs which shook her slender little frame were too violent to be inaudible. Whatever ailed the child, she was prostrated by such a tempest of grief that Antonia forgot high art in an honest wish to comfort human misery.
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File: 0158_with-woman.png
Summary: woman wearing blue sweater with hoop earrings, looking to the side, in a dimly lit room with green plants in the background.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with blonde hair, wearing a blue sweater, standing in front of a blurred background. She is looking directly at the camera with a neutral expression. The woman's hair is styled in loose waves, and she is wearing large hoop earrings.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (The Gates of Chance by Van Tassel Sutphen): The fair and bazaar of the United House-smiths' Benevolent Association was assuredly a tremendous success, and not the least of its attractions was the open market where kisses might be purchased at the ridiculously small price of fifty cents each. But "Cash before delivery" was the motto, and on the counter in front of each young woman stood a brass bowl in which the purchaser deposited his money--"Free list entirely suspended." One could see that "The Fair One with Golden Locks," a large, full-fed blonde with extraordinarily vivid red cheeks, had been doing a rushing business; her bowl was overflowing with notes and coin. And the others also had done well, all except "Mademoiselle D.," the girl at the far end; she had not made a single sale. A slight little thing, pale and somewhat anxious-looking; no wonder that customers had passed her by. Then she looked up, and we both caught our breath. What eyes! Eyes of the purest, serenest gray--gray of that rare quality that holds no tint of either green or blue. Her eyes were her one beauty indeed, but the superlative miracle of loveliness is best seen when it stands alone. And these dolts of house-smiths had passed on to sample the pink-and-white confectionery at the other end of the counter.
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File: 0159_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with white hair wearing a purple satin blouse with a bow at the neck.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with white hair, wearing a purple satin blouse. She is positioned against a purple background, which enhances the vividness of the colors in the image. The woman's expression is serious, and her hand is raised to her face, suggesting a contemplative or thoughtful mood.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (The Lily of the Valley by Honore de Balzac): If you have understood this history of my early life you will guess the feelings which now welled up within me. My eyes rested suddenly on white, rounded shoulders where I would fain have laid my head,--shoulders faintly rosy, which seemed to blush as if uncovered for the first time; modest shoulders, that possessed a soul, and reflected light from their satin surface as from a silken texture. These shoulders were parted by a line along which my eyes wandered. I raised myself to see the bust and was spell-bound by the beauty of the bosom, chastely covered with gauze, where blue-veined globes of perfect outline were softly hidden in waves of lace. The slightest details of the head were each and all enchantments which awakened infinite delights within me; the brilliancy of the hair laid smoothly above a neck as soft and velvety as a child’s, the white lines drawn by the comb where my imagination ran as along a dewy path,--all these things put me, as it were, beside myself. Glancing round to be sure that no one saw me, I threw myself upon those shoulders as a child upon the breast of its mother, kissing them as I laid my head there. The woman uttered a piercing cry, which the noise of the music drowned; she turned, saw me, and exclaimed, “Monsieur!” Ah! had she said, “My little lad, what possesses you?” I might have killed her; but at the word “Monsieur!” hot tears fell from my eyes. I was petrified by a glance of saintly anger, by a noble face crowned with a diadem of golden hair in harmony with
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File: 0160_with-woman.png
Summary: a portrait of a woman with a serious expression, wearing a black shirt, with a red background
Caption: The image is a high-resolution, abstract painting that captures a woman's profile. The painting is characterized by vibrant, swirling colors that create a dynamic and energetic atmosphere. The woman's face is the focal point of the painting, with her hair tied back in a bun, adding a touch of elegance to her appearance.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (History of Woman Suffrage, Volume III (of III) by Various): In closing this report, a word may be said of the persons most conspicuous in it. This year several remarkable additions have been made to our number, and it is of these especially that we would speak. Mrs. Minor of St. Louis, in her manner has all the gentleness and sweetness of the high-born Southern lady; her personal appearance is very pleasant, her hair a light chestnut, untouched with gray; her face has lost the color of youth, but her eyes have still their fire, toned down by the sorrow they have seen. Madame Neyman is also new to the Washington platform. She is a piquant little German lady, with vivacious manner, most agreeable accent, and looked in her closely-fitting black-velvet dress as if she might have just stepped out of a painting. In direct contrast is Mrs. Miller of Maryland--a large, dark-haired matron, past middle age, but newly born in her enthusiasm for the cause. She is a worker as well as a talker, and is a decided acquisition to the ranks. The other novice in the work is Mrs. Amy Dunn, who has taken such a novel way to render assistance. Mrs. Dunn is tall and slender, with dark hair and eyes. She is a shrewd observer, does not talk much socially, but when she says anything it is to the point. Her character sketch, "Zekle's Wife," will be a stepping-stone to many a woman on her way to the suffrage platform.
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File: 0161_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with blue and red hair is shown in a portrait with a dramatic background
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long, flowing hair, set against a vibrant, swirling background. The colors are predominantly red and blue, creating a dynamic and visually striking effect. The woman's face is tilted downwards, and her eyes are closed, adding a sense of serenity to the scene.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (The Craft of Fiction by Percy Lubbock): A very simple and obvious step too, it will be said, the natural device of the story-teller for giving his tale a look of truth. It is so indeed; but the interest of the matter lies in recognizing exactly what it is that is gained, what it is that makes that look. Esmond tells the story quite as Thackeray would; it all comes streaming out as a pictorial evocation of old times; there is just as little that is strictly dramatic in it as there is in Vanity Fair. Rarely, very rarely indeed, is there anything that could be called a scene; there is a long impression that creeps forward and forward, as Esmond retraces his life, with those piercing moments of vision which we remember so well. But to the other people in the book it makes all the difference that the narrator is among them. Now, when Beatrix appears, we know who it is that so sees her, and we know where the seer is placed; his line of sight, striking across the book, from him the seer to her the seen, is measurable, its angle is shown; it gives to Beatrix a new dimension and a sharper relief. Can you remember any moment in Vanity Fair when you beheld Becky as again and again you behold Beatrix, catching the very slant of the light on her face? Becky never suddenly flowered out against her background in that way; some want of solidity and of objectivity there still is in Becky, and there must be, because she is regarded from anywhere, from nowhere, from somewhere in the surrounding void. Thackeray's language about her does not carry the same weight as Esmond's about Beatrix, because
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File: 0162_with-woman.png
Summary: a young woman with a red hooded cloak is looking to the side with a serious expression.
Caption: The image depicts a young woman with a red hooded cloak, set against a backdrop of a swirling, abstract red and white pattern. The woman's face is partially obscured by the hood, and her eyes are visible, with a small, white, star-like object on the left side of her face.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue: The young gentleman out of the way, the lady came rubbing her treacherous nose against Bertha’s, and called her “My friend, my treasure, my star of beauty”; trying every way to be agreeable to her, to make her vengeance more certain on the poor child who, all unwittingly, had caused her lover’s heart to be faithless, which, for women ambitious in love, is the worst of infidelities. After a little conversation, the plotting lady suspected that poor Bertha was a maiden in matters of love, when she saw her eyes full of limpid water, no marks on the temples, no little black speck on the point of her little nose, white as snow, where usually the marks of the amusement are visible, no wrinkle on her brow; in short, no habit of pleasure apparent on her face--clear as the face of an innocent maiden. Then this traitress put certain women’s questions to her, and was perfectly assured by the replies of Bertha, that if she had had the profit of being a mother, the pleasures of love had been denied to her. At this she rejoiced greatly on her cousin’s behalf--like the good woman she was.
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File: 0163_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with blonde hair in a sleeveless black dress with a necklace and earrings, looking to the side with a serious expression, in front of a blurred background with warm colors
Caption: The image depicts a woman with blonde hair, wearing a black sleeveless top, standing in front of a blurred background that includes warm orange and blue hues. The woman's expression is serious, and she is looking slightly to her right. The lighting in the image is dramatic, with a focus on the woman's face and hair, creating a moody and intense atmosphere.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue: Janet's amused reply was interrupted by Rachel's entrance. The vicar arose with eagerness to receive her. He was evidently attracted by his new parishioners and anxious to make a good impression on them. Miss Henderson's reception of the vicar, however, was far more guarded. The easy friendliness of manner which had attracted the bailiff Hastings was, at first at any rate, entirely absent. Her attitude was almost that of a woman defending herself against possible intrusion, and Janet Leighton, looking on, and occasionally sharing in the conversation, was surprised by it, as indeed she was by so many things concerning Rachel now that their acquaintance was deepening; surprised also, as though it were a new thing, by her friend's good looks as she sat languidly chatting with the vicar. Rachel had merely put on a blue overall above her land-worker's dress. But her beautiful head, with its wealth of brown hair, and her face, with its sensuous fulness of cheek and lip, its rounded lines, and lovely colour--like a slightly overblown rose--were greatly set off by the simple folds of blue linen; and her feet and legs, shapely but not small, in their khaki stockings and shoes, completed the general effect of lissom youth. The flush and heat of hard bodily work had passed away. She had had time to plunge her face into cold water and smooth her hair. But the atmosphere of the harvest field, its ripeness and glow, seemed to be still about her. A classically minded man might have thought of some
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File: 0164_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman in a dress is standing in a room with a window and shadows on the wall
Caption: The image depicts a woman in a sleeveless dress, standing in a dimly lit room with a green wall in the background. The woman is positioned in the center of the image, with her arms raised upwards, as if reaching for something.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (The Riddle Of The Sands by Erskine Childers): It was something of a gymnastic masterpiece, since I was lying—or, rather, standing aslant—on the rough sea-wall, with crannies of brick for foothold and the water plashing below me; but then I had not lived in the _Dulcibella_ for nothing. My chain of thought, I fancy, was this—the tug is to carry my party; I cannot shadow a tug in a rowboat, yet I intend to shadow my party; I must therefore go with them in the tug, and the first and soundest step is to mimic her crew. But the next step was a hard matter, for the crew having finished their job sat side by side on the bulwarks and lit their pipes. However, a little pantomime soon occurred, as amusing as it was inspiriting. They seemed to consult together, looking from the tug to the inn and from the inn to the tug. One of them walked a few paces inn-wards and beckoned to the other, who in his turn called something down the engine-room skylight, and then joined his mate in a scuttle to the inn. Even while I watched the pantomime I was sliding off my boots, and it had not been consummated a second before I had them in my arms and was tripping over the mud in my stocking feet. A dozen noiseless steps and I was over the bulwarks between the wheel and the smoke-stack, casting about for a hiding-place. The conventional stowaway hides in the hold, but there was only a stokehold here, occupied moreover; nor was there an empty apple-barrel, such as Jim of _Treasure Island_ found so useful. As far as I could see—and I dared not venture far for fear of the skylight—the
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File: 0165_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman in a red blouse is looking at the camera with a serious expression.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long dark hair, wearing a red blouse, standing in front of a blurred background of red and orange lights. The woman's gaze is directed towards the right side of the image, and her expression appears serious.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue: The house was a little long house with a verandah and a garden in front of it with flint-edged paths; the room in which they sat and ate was long and low and equipped with pieces of misfitting good furniture, an accidental-looking gilt tarnished mirror, and a sprinkling of old and middle-aged books. Some one had lit a fire, which cracked and spurted about cheerfully in a motherly fireplace, and a lamp and some candles got lit. Mrs. Wilder, Amanda's aunt, a comfortable dark broad-browed woman, directed things, and sat at the end of the table and placed Benham on her right hand between herself and Amanda. Amanda's mother remained undeveloped, a watchful little woman with at least an eyebrow like her daughter's. Her name, it seemed, was Morris. No servant appeared, but two cousins of a vague dark picturesqueness and with a stamp of thirty upon them, the first young women Benham had ever seen dressed in djibbahs, sat at the table or moved about and attended to the simple needs of the service. The reconciled dogs were in the room and shifted inquiring noses from one human being to another.
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File: 0166_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with wings is standing on a beach with waves crashing around her
Caption: The image depicts a woman with wings, standing on a rocky shore, facing the left side of the frame. She is dressed in a flowing, long dress that extends to her feet, and her hair is long and flowing. The background is filled with a dramatic sky, adorned with dark clouds and a bright sun, casting a dramatic light on the scene.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue: "Oh, I am so happy!" she cried. "I think I've everything I want in all the world. Oh dear, those last few days indoors! But oh, I am so happy now!" She had changed her brown dress for the old flowing green one, and she began to do her skirt dance in the open meadow, lit by sudden gleams of the sunshine. It was really a beautiful sight, and Mr. Worters did not correct her, glad perhaps that she should recover her spirits, even if she lost her tone. Her feet scarcely moved, but her body so swayed and her dress spread so gloriously around her, that we were transported with joy. She danced to the song of a bird that sang passionately in Other Kingdom, and the river held back its waves to watch her (one might have supposed), and the winds lay spell-bound in their cavern, and the great clouds spell-bound in the sky. She danced away from our society and our life, back, back through the centuries till houses and fences fell and the earth lay wild to the sun. Her garment was as foliage upon her, the strength of her limbs as boughs, her throat the smooth upper branch that salutes the morning or glistens to the rain. Leaves move, leaves hide it as hers was hidden by the motion of her hair. Leaves move again and it is ours, as her throat was ours again when, parting the tangle, she faced us crying, "Oh!" crying, "Oh Harcourt! I never was so happy. I have all that there is in the world."
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File: 0167_with-woman.png
Summary: woman sitting in a room with a window looking out to the ocean.
Caption: The image depicts a woman sitting in a room with a large window that offers a view of the ocean. The woman is dressed in a black sports bra and black leggings, and she is seated on a chair with her legs crossed. The room is well-lit, with the sunlight casting a warm glow on the woman and the window.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Kenny by Leona Dalrymple): He dressed quickly. Hannah helped him hitch the old mare to the buggy and found him nervous and unfamiliar with his task. Kenny drove off down the lane, oppressed by the bleak wind and the bare black tangle of branches ahead of him. The tragic effort of Adam's wasted legs had left him startled and uneasy. For the life of him he could not put out of his mind the tale of the old Irish woman and the chair she had left by the fire on the Eve of All Souls for the visit of her dead son. It had bothered Adam Craig and made him shudder. It bothered Kenny now. He wished he hadn't remembered it last night or to-day. But the sound of Nellie's hoofs plodding along the soft dirt road was no more recurrent than his own foreboding. It filled him with sadness and guilt. Adam perhaps had dragged himself to the sitting room fire in a drunken fit of superstition. Seeking what? Someone he had _wronged_? The sinister spark inflamed his fancy. His brain whirled. Inexplicably the tale of the fairy mill and the rascal who stole the widow's bag of meal linked itself with the mishap of the night before. Then too Adam had fallen forward in his chair unconscious.
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File: 0168_with-woman.png
Summary: The painting depicts a woman in a red dress lying on a bed.
Caption: The image depicts a woman lying on her side, her head resting on a pillow, with her eyes closed and her body relaxed. She is wearing a red dress, which contrasts with the dark background. The painting is done in a realistic style, with attention to detail in the texture of the clothing and the folds of the fabric.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (The Wonders of Pompeii by Marc Monnier): One of these bodies is that of a woman near whom were picked up ninety-one pieces of coin, two silver urns, and some keys and jewels. She was endeavoring to escape, taking with her these precious articles, when she fell down in the narrow street. You still see her lying on her left side; her head-dress can very readily be made out, as also can the texture of her clothing and two silver rings which she still has on her finger; one of her hands is broken, and you see the cellular structure of the bone; her left arm is lifted and distorted; her delicate hand is so tightly clenched that you would say the nails penetrate the flesh; her whole body appears swollen and contracted; the legs only, which are very slender, remain extended. One feels that she struggled a long time in horrible agony; her whole attitude is that of anguish, not of death.
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File: 0169_with-woman.png
Summary: young woman with long curly hair, wearing a green shirt, posing in a dimly lit room with a spotlight on her.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long, curly hair, wearing a green top, standing in a dimly lit room with a warm, orange hue. The lighting is focused on her face, creating a dramatic effect that accentuates her features. The background is blurred, adding depth to the image and emphasizing the woman's presence.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Bob Hampton of Placer by Randall Parrish): Glencaid, like most mining towns of its class, was dull and dead enough during the hours of daylight. It was not until after darkness fell that it awoke from its somnolence, when the scattered miners came swarming down from out the surrounding hills and turned into a noisy, restless playground the single narrow, irregular street. Then it suddenly became a mad commixture of Babel and hell. At this hour nothing living moved within range of the watcher's vision except a vagrant dog; the heat haze hung along the near-by slopes, while a little spiral of dust rose lazily from the deserted road. But Hampton had no eyes for this dreary prospect; with contracted brows he was viewing again that which he had confidently believed to have been buried long ago. Finally, he stepped quickly across the little room, and, standing quietly within the open doorway, looked long at the young girl upon the bed. She lay in sound, motionless sleep, one hand beneath her cheek, her heavy hair, scarcely revealing its auburn hue in the gloom of the interior, flowing in wild disorder across the crushed pillow. He stepped to the single window and drew down the green shade, gazed at her again, a new look of tenderness softening his stern face, then went softly out and closed the door.
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File: 0170_with-woman.png
Summary: young woman in a suit with a necklace and earrings, looking to the side, with a dark background.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long hair, wearing a dark blazer, and a necklace with a large pendant. The background is dark, creating a contrast that highlights the woman's features. The lighting is focused on her face, giving it a dramatic and intense appearance.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (A Hero of the Pen by E. Werner): In the magnificent parlor, giving evidence of that superfluity of expensive comfort and luxury which to wealthy Americans seems an absolute necessity of life, sits a young lady, in an elaborate and costly home dress. She is a girl of some twenty summers, and sitting near the open fire, whose shifting gleams light up her face and form, with her head resting thoughtfully in her hand, she listens to the conversation of the man opposite her. The face a perfect oval, of a clear, colorless, brunette complexion, with large, brown eyes and perfectly regular features, is set in a frame of dark, luxuriant hair, and possesses undeniable claims to beauty. And yet there is something wanting in this exquisite face. It is that joyous, artless expression which so seldom fails in youth; that breath of timidity we look for in young maidenhood, and that look of gentleness a woman's face seldom entirely lacks, and never to its advantage. There is a chilling gravity in this young girl's whole appearance, a confident repose, an undeniable self-consciousness; and yet it does not seem as if heavy life-storms or premature sorrows can have brought to her the sad experiences of later years. For this her brow is all too smooth--her eyes too bright. Either inborn or inbred must be that seriousness through which her beauty gains so much in expression, although it loses infinitely in the tender grace and charm of both.
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File: 0171_with-woman.png
Summary: young woman wearing large gold earrings, posing for a photo, looking to the side, in front of a building, with a clear blue sky and a body of water in the background.
Caption: The image depicts a young woman with long brown hair styled in a high ponytail, wearing a dark blazer over a dark blouse. She is standing outdoors, with a clear blue sky and a body of water in the background. The woman is looking directly at the camera, giving a direct and direct expression.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Bressant by Julian Hawthorne): She walked up to the dressing-table, which was covered with a disorderly medley of a young lady's toilet articles--comb and brush, a paper of pins, ribbons, a brooch, little vase for rings, an open purse, a soiled handkerchief--and began mechanically to undo her hair, and shake out the braids. It was dark-brown hair, not soft and delicately fine like Sophie's, but vigorous and crisp, each hair seeming to be distinct, and yet harmonizing with the rest. As it was loosened and fell voluminously spreading over her shoulders, she paused, resting against the table, and looked at her face in the glass with critical earnestness. The candle, standing at one side of the mirror, cast soft and deep shadows beneath the darkly-defined eyebrows, and against the straight line of the nose, and around the clear, short curves of the mouth and upper lip. The light rested tenderly on her firm, oval cheeks, so deep-toned, yet pale, and brought out an almost invisible dimple on each cheek-bone beneath the eye, usually only to be distinguished when she laughed or smiled. The forehead, so far as it could be seen beneath the hair, was smooth and straight, neither high nor especially wide. The ears were small and white, but rather too much cut away below to be in perfect proportion. Over all seemed spread a mellow, rich, transparent, laughing medium, that was better than beauty, and without which beauty would have seemed cold and tame, or at least passionless. There was a delicate mystery in the face, too, not conscious or self-woven, but of that impalpable and
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File: 0172_with-woman.png
Summary: young woman with long curly hair, wearing a green shirt, standing in a forest, looking to the side, with sunlight filtering through the trees.
Caption: The image depicts a young woman with long, curly hair, wearing a green shirt adorned with a floral pattern. She is standing in a forest, with dense foliage and sunlight filtering through the trees, creating a warm and serene atmosphere. The woman's gaze is directed towards the camera, and her expression appears to be contemplative or introspective.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Trifles for the Christmas Holidays by H. S. Armstrong): How well I recollect that warm, balmy March morning! My mother had sent me to Paris about six months before, to read law with an old relative. Of course I was delighted; but that day I felt tired of the dull routine of my life, and longed for the green fields, waving trees, and wild mountain-torrents of my home. I was walking slowly down the street, thinking gloomily of the labors of another day, and she was standing near a school-house door, intently occupied in giving some directions to an old soldier. In my whole life I do not think I ever saw a more beautiful creature. The airiness of the lithe little figure, the playfulness in the nod of the graceful head, the look of joyous innocence on that perfect face, flitted through my mind like a bright ray of sunshine during the entire day. Every morning, for years after, I met that child; and every morning her beaming smile cheered my young life like a glimpse of heaven. I never spoke to her; it was a long time before she even knew of my existence; but by-and-by I noticed a quizzical expression come over the old man's face, and I saw her features warm with a faint flush of recognition. How many dreams I based on that slight fabric! Of course I discovered her name; and of course I learned that her father was very rich; but what was that to me? With what pride did I gaze at his name in huge gilt letters on a great warehouse near us, and what wonderful little gothic cottages did I build on the strength of the "and Son" that would shortly be added to it! The
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File: 0173_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman in a red dress is standing in front of a temple with a large moon above her head
Caption: The image depicts a mystical scene with a woman standing in front of a large, ornate, circular mandala. The mandala is adorned with intricate patterns and designs, including a large sun and a crescent moon, which are positioned at the top of the mandala. The woman is dressed in a flowing red dress and is holding a staff in her right hand.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue: These lichened "Standing Stones of Stenness," with the famous Stone of Odin about 150 yards to the north, are second only to Stonehenge, one measuring 18 feet in length, 5 feet 4 inches in breadth, and 18 inches in thickness. The Stone of Odin had a hole in it to which it was supposed that sacrificial victims were fastened in ancient times, but in later times lovers met and joined hands through the hole in the stone, and the pledge of love then given was almost as sacred as a marriage vow. An antiquarian description of this reads as follows: "When the parties agreed to marry, they repaired to the Temple of the Moon, where the woman in the presence of the man fell down on her knees and prayed to the God Wodin that he would enable her to perform, all the promises and obligations she had made, and was to make, to the young man present, after which they both went to the Temple of the Sun, where the man prayed in like manner before the woman. They then went to the Stone of Odin, and the man being on one side and the woman on the other, they took hold of each other's right hand through the hole and there swore to be constant and faithful to each other." The hole in the stone was about five feet from the ground, but some ignorant farmer had destroyed the stone, with others, some years before our visit.
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File: 0174_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman in a brown and blue peasant dress sits in a room with a window
Caption: The image depicts a woman seated on a chair, dressed in a traditional brown and blue peasant dress with white lace details. She is looking to the side, possibly at something outside the frame, with her hands resting on her lap. The background features a window with a white frame, suggesting an indoor setting.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue: And, moving more as an automaton than as one under a will, Halket was seated on a chair, with this said old and blind woman by his side, who sat silent and with blank eyes waiting for the stranger to explain what he wanted. Nor was the opportunity lost by Halket, who, unable to understand how she should have called herself Mary Brown, began, in the obscure light of the room, to scrutinize her form and features; and in doing this, he went upon the presumption that this second Mary Brown only carried the name of the first; but as he looked he began to detect features which riveted his eyes; where the reagent was so sharp and penetrating, the analysis was rapid--it was also hopeful--it was also fearful. Yes, it was true that that woman was _his_ Mary Brown. The light-brown ringlets were reduced to a white stratum of thin hair; the blue eyes were grey, without light and without speculation; the roses on the cheeks were replaced by a pallor, the forerunner of the colour of death; the lithe and sprightly form was a thin spectral body, where the sinews appeared as strong cords, and the skin seemed only to cover a skeleton. Yet, withal, he saw in her that identical Mary Brown. That wreck was dear to him; it was a relic of the idol he had worshipped through life; it was the only remnant in the world which had any interest for him; and he could on the instant have clasped her to his breast, and covered her pale face with his tears. But how was he to act? A sudden announcement might startle and distress her.
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File: 0175_with-woman.png
Summary: The three figures are posed in a portrait, with the man on the left, the woman in the middle, and the woman on the right. The man is wearing a gray suit with a yellow vest and a white shirt, the woman in the middle is wearing a green dress with a white lace collar, and the woman on the right is wearing a
Caption: The image depicts a trio of individuals standing against a plain, light-colored background. The person on the left is dressed in a gray suit with a white shirt and a yellow vest, while the person in the middle is wearing a green dress with a white collar and a brown belt. The person on the right is dressed in a beige dress with a white collar and a brown belt.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (Lippincott's Magazine of Popular Literature and Science by Various): These I have spoken of are the upper classes from the harems of the sultan and rich pashas, but those you see constantly on foot in the streets are the middle and lower classes, and not so attractive. They have fine eyes, but the yashmaks are thicker, and you feel there is less beauty hidden under them. The higher the rank the thinner the yashmak is the rule. They also wear the long cloak, but it is made of black or colored alpaca or a similar material. Gray is most worn, but black, brown, yellow, green, blue and scarlet are often seen. The negresses dress like their mistresses in the street, and if you see a pair of bright yellow boots under a brilliant scarlet ferraja and an unusually white yashmak, you will generally find the wearer is a jet-black negress. Sitting so much in the house _ la Turque_ is not conducive to grace of motion, nor are loose slippers to well-shaped feet, and I must confess that a Turkish woman walks like a _goose_, and the size of her "fairy feet" would rejoice the heart of a leather-dealer.
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File: 0176_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman in a white dress with lace details is standing in a foggy, misty environment. she is looking upwards with her eyes closed.
Caption: The image depicts a woman standing in a dimly lit, greenish-blue environment. She is wearing a white lace dress with ruffled details and has long, dark hair that is blowing in the wind. The background is a gradient of green and blue, creating a sense of depth and depth.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (Girlhood and Womanhood by Sarah Tytler): In a low dark closet, up a steep stair, in a narrow, confined, dark-browed house in the Canongate of Edinburgh, one of the belles of 17--made her toilette. Her chamber woman, in curch and tartan screen, was old nurse and sole domestic of the high-headed, strong-minded, stately widow of a wild north-country laird, whose son now ruled alone in the rugged family mansion among the grand, misty mountains of Lochaber. Nelly Carnegie was no beauty; not fair as a red-and-white rose, like Lady Eglinton, or any one of her six daughters; not dainty, like poor imprisoned Lady Lovat; she was more like desperate Lady Primrose, flying shrieking from her mad husband's sword and pistols, or fierce Lady Grange, swearing her bootless revenge on the wily, treacherous, scared Lord of Session. She was but wild, witty Nelly Carnegie, whom no precise, stern mother could tame, no hard life at her embroidery or her spinet could subdue. She was brown as a gipsy, skin, eyes, and hair--the last a rich, ruddy chestnut brown--with nothing to distinguish her figure but its diminutiveness and the nimbleness of the shapely hands and feet; while her mother's lace lappets were higher by half a foot than the crown of many a manikin on whom she looked down, and her back that never bent or leant for a second on rail or cushion, was straight as an arrow, as well as long. But Nelly, in her absurd, magnificent brocade, and her hoop, that made her small figure like a little russet cask, and with busk and breast-knot and top-knot, was
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File: 0177_with-woman.png
Summary: the woman is posing in a black leather outfit with a cape and has long hair and is looking at the camera
Caption: The image is a black and white portrait of a woman, rendered in a high-contrast style. She is standing in a dramatic pose, her body angled slightly to the right, with her hair blowing in the wind. The background is a dark, textured wall, which contrasts with the woman's black leather outfit.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue: Strange tatters of conversation rose from the deck. "Poor child, she lost her husband at the beginning of the war"--"Third shipment of hosses"--"I was talking with a feller from the Atlas Steel Company"--"Edouard is somewhere near Arras"; there were disputes about the outcome of the war, and arguments over profits. A voluble French woman, whose husband was a pastry cook in a New York hotel before he joined the forces, told me how she had wandered from one war movie to another hoping to catch a glimpse of her husband, and had finally seen "some one who resembled him strongly" on the screen in Harlem. She had a picture of him, a thin, moody fellow with great, saber whiskers like Rostand's and a high, narrow forehead curving in on the sides between the eyebrows and the hair. "He is a Chasseur alpin," she said with a good deal of pride, "and they are holding his place for him at the hotel. He was wounded last month in the shoulder. I am going to the hospital at Lyons to see him." The day's sunset was at its end, and a great mass of black clouds surged over the eastern horizon, turning the seas ahead to a leaden somberness that lowered in menacing contrast to the golden streaks of dying day. The air freshened, salvos of rain fell hissing into the dark waters, and violet cords of lightning leaped between sea and sky. Echoing thunder rolled long through unseen abysses. In the deserted salon I found the young Frenchman with the star-shaped scar reading an old copy of "La Revue." He had been an officer in the
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File: 0178_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman in a red dress and hat is conversing with a man in a green suit
Caption: The image depicts a bustling street scene in Paris, France. The street is lined with buildings adorned with red awnings, and the sky is overcast, casting a soft light over the scene. A man in a green suit and hat is crouching on the sidewalk, while a woman in a red dress and a woman in a brown dress are standing on the sidewalk.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (Naples Past and Present by Arthur H. Norway): Down the incline of the courtyard, where Boccaccio may well have whispered guilty secrets to his Anjou princess, there loafs a hawker with his donkey, his head thrown back, his brown hat tilted picturesquely, bawling with iron throat the praises of his leeks and cabbages, while the donkey creeps on cautiously over the broken stones. In the Neapolitan speech he is the "padulano"--the man who comes from the swamp, by which is meant the low plain of the Sebeto, that muddy river which the railway to Castellammare crosses on the outskirts of the city. On this marshy ground grow quantities of early vegetables, and these it is which the padulano goes vaunting in his brazen voice. He needs his strength of lung, for see! on the highest story a woman has heard his bawling and comes out upon her balcony. At that height they do not bargain in words, but in signs, the universal language of the people. A few rapid passes of the hands and the business is done. The woman lets down a basket by a rope; a few soldi are jingling in the bottom; the basket goes up packed with green stuff, and the padulano loafs on beside his patient donkey.
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File: 0179_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman in a pink dress with long hair and a belt standing in a field of flowers
Caption: The image depicts a woman standing in a field, dressed in a pink dress with a floral pattern and a belt. She is holding a sword in her right hand, and her left hand is resting on her hip. The background features a village with houses and trees, and the sky is partly cloudy.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (Eventide by Effie Afton): "O, this glorious, sweet-breathed morning, with its birds and flowers, is enough to brighten the most torpid thing into animation!" exclaimed Louise, grasping her friend's hand warmly. "You don't know how I love everything and everybody to-day, Mrs. Stanhope," she continued, in a tone of earnest enthusiasm, as she entered the little parlor, still holding the good woman by one hand, while she extended the other to Miss Pinkerton, who rose from her work to receive her, and drew an old-fashioned, straight-backed rocking-chair, cushioned and lined with gay copperplate, up before the window for her comfort. "I must not sit long," said Louise, assuming the proffered seat, "for I have left my house quite alone; the servants having gone out on errands for themselves. I tried one thing and another to divert myself, but the birds sang so sweetly, the sun was so bright, and everything seemed to say, up and away. So I donned my sun-bonnet and ran over here as the nicest, quietest little nook I could fly to; and where I should be as welcome in my morning-gown as in full dress of ruffles and satins."
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File: 0180_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman in a suit is standing in a mountainous landscape with her hands clasped together in front of her
Caption: The image depicts a woman standing on a mountain peak, her arms crossed in a gesture of prayer or contemplation. She is dressed in a dark business suit, which contrasts with the natural beauty of the mountainous landscape. The sky above her is a gradient of orange and pink, suggesting a sunset, and the clouds are scattered across the sky.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that what rises above us always reflects what is within us.
Monologue: Stratz, who criticizes the above statement, argues (with photographs of nude women in illustration) that the normal type of European surprised modesty is shown by an attitude in which the arms are crossed over the breast, the most sexually attractive region, while the thighs are pressed together, one being placed before the other, the shoulder raised and the back slightly curved; occasionally, he adds, the hands may be used to cover the face, and then the crossed arms conceal the breasts. The Medicean Venus, he remarks, is only a pretty woman coquetting with her body. Canova's Venus in the Pitti (who has drapery in front of her, and presses her arms across her breast) being a more accurate rendering of the attitude of modesty. But Stratz admits that when a surprised woman is gazed at for some time, she turns her head away, sinks or closes her eyes, and covers her pubes (or any other part she thinks is being gazed at) with one hand, while with the other she hides her breast or face. This he terms the secondary expression of modesty. (Stratz, _Die Frauenkleidung_, third ed., p. 23.)
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File: 0181_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with long brown hair sits on a rock in the sky
Caption: The image depicts a woman sitting on a rock, with a serene and peaceful atmosphere. She is dressed in a white top and blue jeans, and her hair is blowing in the wind. The background is a clear blue sky with fluffy white clouds, creating a calm and tranquil scene.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (Christie Redfern's Troubles by Margaret Robertson): With a cry of delight, she recognised her old favourite, "The Lights and Shadows of Scottish Life." The very same! though this was glittering in blue and gold, a perfect contrast to the little, brown-covered book, with the title-page lost, which had made Christie forget her bread and her cooling oven on that unhappy day. But the remembrance of the old time and the old favourite came back all the more vividly because of the contrast. The memory of the old times came back. Oh, how long ago it seemed since that summer afternoon when she lay on the grass and read it for the first time! Yet how vividly it all came back! The blue sky, with the white clouds passing over it now and then, the sound of the wind among the low fir-trees, the smell of the hawthorn hedge, the voices of the children in the lane beyond, seemed once more above her and around her. And then the sound of her mother's gentle chiding, when she found her sitting there after the shadows had grown long, came back. Her voice, her smile, the very gown and cap she wore, and the needlework she carried in her hand, came sensibly before her. Yet how long ago it seemed! Christie remembered how many times she had taken it with her to the fields, when the incompleteness of their fences during the first year of their stay on the farm had made the "herding" of the sheep and cows necessary that the grain might be safe. She had read it in the woods in spring-time, by the firelight in the long winter evenings, and by stealth on Sundays, when the weather had kept her from
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File: 0182_with-woman.png
Summary: woman posing in a business suit with her arms crossed.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long, wavy hair, wearing a black business suit. She is standing against a plain, dark background, which contrasts with her attire. Her expression is serious, and she is looking directly at the camera.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert): To get back something of her, he fetched from the cupboard at the bedside an old Rheims biscuit-box, in which he usually kept his letters from women, and from it came an odour of dry dust and withered roses. First he saw a handkerchief with pale little spots. It was a handkerchief of hers. Once when they were walking her nose had bled; he had forgotten it. Near it, chipped at all the corners, was a miniature given him by Emma: her toilette seemed to him pretentious, and her languishing look in the worst possible taste. Then, from looking at this image and recalling the memory of its original, Emma's features little by little grew confused in his remembrance, as if the living and the painted face, rubbing one against the other, had effaced each other. Finally, he read some of her letters; they were full of explanations relating to their journey, short, technical, and urgent, like business notes. He wanted to see the long ones again, those of old times. In order to find them at the bottom of the box, Rodolphe disturbed all the others, and mechanically began rummaging amidst this mass of papers and things, finding pell-mell bouquets, garters, a black mask, pins, and hair--hair! dark and fair, some even, catching in the hinges of the box, broke when it was opened.
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File: 0183_with-woman.png
Summary: woman posing in a black blazer with a necklace and a necklace
Caption: The image depicts a woman with shoulder-length wavy hair, wearing a black blazer over a black top. She is standing against a textured, brown background, which adds a rustic and elegant touch to the scene. The woman is looking directly at the camera with a neutral expression, giving the image a calm and composed appearance.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Journal of a Visit to Constantinople and Some of the Greek Islands in the Spring and Summer of 1833 by John Auldjo): [Sidenote: SCENE ON BOARD.] _Friday, 9th_--that we bade adieu to Sicily. The Duchess came on board with her husband and suite, Count Menars, and the Prince and Princess----. Her face is by no means a handsome one; and she is very short, thin, and vulgar-looking. Nothing in her personal appearance marks her out for a heroine, or is calculated to inspire her followers with the awe and respect with which they seem to worship her. She soon sat down to whist with her husband, Butera, and the old Princess St. Theodore; but the game received many unpleasant interruptions from the pitching and rolling of the boat. Each time the fit came on, she sprang upon the bench on which she had been sitting, and, after bending her head _sans crmonie_ over the vessel's side, quietly sat down again to resume her cards. This rather unroyal and unlady-like exhibition occurred repeatedly; and we were impressed with the idea that her manners altogether were very unfitting her rank and station. As it was publicly known that we had the Duchess de Berri on board, she attracted considerable attention; otherwise her carriage would never have distinguished her from the most ordinary passenger. Our Carlist friend appeared on the quarter deck, wearing the colours of his party: at first, she took no notice of him; but at length it occurred to her that he might be a spy in disguise, and she haughtily demanded who he was. His loyalty and devotion were not proof against this affront: in an instant he retreated below, and, having disencumbered himself of the
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File: 0184_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with long curly hair and a red cape is holding a glowing object in her hand. she is standing in front of a dark background with a faint light source in the top left.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long, wavy hair, wearing a red and gold outfit. She is holding a glowing object in her right hand, which appears to be a wand or a similar magical tool. The background is dark, with a faint outline of a cityscape visible, suggesting an urban setting.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (Italian Letters of a Diplomat's Life by Mary Alsop King Waddington): Saturday Marquise de Bailleul and I were received by the Queen. Our audience was at four. I went for her a little before. We drove straight to the Quirinal, the great entrance on the piazza. Two swell porters were at the door, but no guards nor soldiers visible anywhere. We went up the grand staircase, where there was a red carpet and plenty of flowers, but no servants on the steps. The doors of a large anteroom at the top of the stairs were open, and there were four footmen in powder, culottes, and royal red liveries, and three or four men in black. We left our wraps. I wore my grey velvet and Marquise de Bailleul was in black with a handsome sable cape (which she was much disgusted at leaving). We went at once into a large room, where the dame de palais de service was waiting for us. She had a list in her hand, came forward at once and named herself, Duchesse d'Arscoli, said she supposed I was Madame Waddington. I introduced Marquise de Bailleul. The gentleman also came up and said a few words. There were one or two other ladies in the room, evidently waiting their turn. In a few minutes the door into the next room opened and two ladies came out. The duchess went in, remained a second, then coming back, waved us in. She didn't come in herself, didn't announce us, and shut the door behind us. We found ourselves in a large, rather bare room, with no trace of habitation--I fancy it is only used for official receptions. The Queen was standing at a table about the middle of the room. She is tall, dark, with fine eyes and a pretty
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File: 0185_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with curly blonde hair wearing a red cloak with a white pattern and a black garment with a red scarf.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with curly hair, wearing a red cloak adorned with intricate patterns. The woman is facing the camera, and her expression is serious. The background is blurred, suggesting a soft focus, which draws attention to the woman and her attire.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (More Bywords by Charlotte M. Yonge): One great procession was formed by different bands. The children were in two troops, a motley collection of all shades; the deep olive and the rolling black eye betraying Ethiopian or Moorish slave ancestry, the soft dark complexion and deep brown eye showing the Roman, and the rufous hair and freckled skin the lower grade of Cymric Kelt, while a few had the more stately pose, violet eye, and black hair of the Gael. The boys were marshalled with extreme difficulty by two or three young monks; their sisters walked far more orderly, under the care of some consecrated virgin of mature age. The men formed another troop, the hardy mountaineers still wearing the Gallic trousers and plaid, though the artisans and mechanics from the town were clad in the tunic and cloak that were the later Roman dress, and such as could claim the right folded over them the white, purple-edged scarf to which the toga had dwindled.
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File: 0186_with-woman.png
Summary: The woman in the image is standing in front of a green wall with a tattoo on her neck.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long, wavy hair, wearing a gray sweater with a ruffled collar. The woman's face is turned slightly to the right, and she has a serious expression. The background is a blurred green, which suggests a natural setting.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Fairy Legends and Traditions of The South of Ireland by T. Crofton Crocker): There was a pause when Peggy Barrett finished. Those who heard the story before had listened with a look of half-satisfied interest, blended, however, with an expression of that serious and solemn feeling, which always attends a tale of supernatural wonders, how often soever told. They moved upon their seats out of the posture in which they had remained fixed during the narrative, and sat in an attitude which denoted that their curiosity as to the cause of this strange occurrence had been long since allayed. Those to whom it was before unknown still retained their look and posture of strained attention, and anxious but solemn expectation. A grandson of Peggy's, about nine years old (not the child of the son with whom she lived,) had never before heard the story. As it grew in interest, he was observed to cling closer and closer to the old woman's side; and at the close he was gazing steadfastly at her, with his body bent back across her knees, and his face turned up to hers, with a look, through which a disposition to weep seemed contending with curiosity. After a moment's pause, he could no longer restrain his impatience, and catching her gray locks in one hand, while a tear of dread and wonder was just dropping from his eye-lash, he cried, "Granny, what was it?"
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File: 0187_with-woman.png
Summary: woman posing in a green dress with a braid in a dimly lit room with bokeh lights.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long, wavy hair, wearing a green dress with a zipper at the front. The background is blurred, creating a sense of depth and depth of field, with bokeh lights that add a bokeh effect to the image. The woman's expression is serious, and she is looking directly at the camera.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Berenice by E. Phillips Oppenheim): He was silent for a moment or two. It was so natural that she should go, and yet in a sense it was so unexpected. Looking steadily across at her as she leaned back amongst the cushions of her chair, her dark eyes watching his face, her attitude and expression alike convincing him in some subtle way of her satisfaction at his presence, he became suddenly conscious that the time which he had dimly anticipated with mingled fear and pleasure was now close at hand. His heart was beating with a quickened throb! He was aghast as he realized with quick, unerring truth the full effect of her words upon him. He drew a sharp little breath and walked to the open window, taking in a long draught of the fresh night air, sweetly scented with the perfume of the flowers in her boxes. Her voice came to him low and sweet from the interior of the room.
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File: 0188_with-woman.png
Summary: woman in uniform standing in front of a ship with a sail in the background.
Caption: The image depicts a woman dressed in a naval uniform, standing in front of a wooden ship. She is wearing a black hat with a gold emblem, a black coat with gold buttons, and a green scarf draped over her shoulder. The woman's expression is serious, and she is looking directly at the camera.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Ralph the Heir by Anthony Trollope): As far as she could judge of her own feelings at this moment, in the absolute absence of any previous accurate thought on the subject, she fancied that a real, undoubted, undoubting, trustworthy engagement with Ralph Newton would make her the happiest girl in England. She had never told herself that she was in love with him; she had never flattered herself that he was in love with her;--she had never balanced the matter in her mind as a contingency likely to occur; but now, at this moment, as he lay there smoking his pipe and looking full into her blushing face, she did think that to have him for her own lover would be joy enough for her whole life. She knew that he was idle, extravagant, fond of pleasure, and,--unsteady, as she in her vocabulary would be disposed to describe the character which she believed to be his. But in her heart of hearts she liked unsteadiness in men, if it were not carried too far. Ralph's brother, the parson, as to whom she was informed that he possessed every virtue incident to humanity, and who was quite as good-looking as his brother, had utterly failed to touch her heart. A black coat and a white cravat were antipathetic to her. Ralph, as he lay on the green sward, hot, with linen trousers and a coloured flannel shirt, with a small straw hat stuck on the edge of his head, with nothing round his throat, and his jacket over his shoulder, with a pipe in his mouth and an empty glass beside him, was to her, in externals, the beau-ideal of a young man. And then, though he was unsteady, extravagant, and idle,
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File: 0189_with-woman.png
Summary: The woman is wearing a green uniform with a gold badge on her chest.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long, dark hair styled in a braid, wearing a green military uniform with a gold nameplate on the left side of her chest. She is standing in a room with a blurred background, suggesting a setting that could be a hallway or a corridor. The woman's expression is serious, and her gaze is directed towards the camera.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue: Hermann reached the Countess's bedroom. Before a shrine, which was full of old images, a golden lamp was burning. Faded stuffed chairs and divans with soft cushions stood in melancholy symmetry around the room, the walls of which were hung with china silk. On one side of the room hung two portraits painted in Paris by Madame Lebrun. One of these represented a stout, red-faced man of about forty years of age, in a bright green uniform, and with a star upon his breast; the other--a beautiful young woman, with an aquiline nose, forehead curls, and a rose in her powdered hair. In the corner stood porcelain shepherds and shepherdesses, dining-room clocks from the workshop of the celebrated Lefroy, bandboxes, roulettes, fans, and the various playthings for the amusement of ladies that were in vogue at the end of the last century, when Montgolfier's balloons and Niesber's magnetism were the rage. Hermann stepped behind the screen. At the back of it stood a little iron bedstead; on the right was the door which led to the cabinet; on the left, the other which led to the corridor. He opened the latter, and saw the little winding staircase which led to the room of the poor companion. But he retraced his steps and entered the dark cabinet.
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File: 0190_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with blonde hair and a necklace is posing for a photo in the snow
Caption: The image depicts a woman with blonde hair styled in a bun, wearing a strapless dress with intricate beadwork and a necklace. She is standing in a snowy landscape, with a road and trees in the background. The woman is facing away from the camera, giving a sense of depth and perspective to the image.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Fidelity by Susan Glaspell): Amy would make friends, he was thinking, lovingly proud. How could it be otherwise when she was so lovely and so charming? She looked so slim, so very young, in that white dress she was wearing. Well, and she was young, little older now than these girls had been when they really were "the girls." That bleak sense of life as going by fell away; here _was_ life--the beautiful life he was to have with Amy. He watched the breeze play with her hair and his whole heart warmed to her in the thought of the happiness she brought him, in his gratitude for what love made of life. He forgot his resentment about Ruth, forgot the old bitterness and old hurt that had just been newly stirred in him. Life had been a lonely thing for a number of years after Ruth went away. He had Amy now--all was to be different.
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File: 0191_with-woman.png
Summary: The woman is posing for a portrait, with her hand on her hip and her head tilted slightly to the side.
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long blonde hair, wearing a sleeveless dress with a floral pattern. She is standing against a backdrop of a textured green wall, which adds a sense of depth to the scene. The woman's pose is confident and poised, with her left hand resting on her hip and her right hand on her hip, suggesting a sense of readiness or readiness for action.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (The Wandering Jew, Complete by Eugene Sue): A little while before Florine made up her mind to atone for her shameful breach of confidence, Mother Bunch had returned from the factory, after accomplishing to the end her painful task. After a long interview with Angela, struck, like Agricola, with the ingenuous grace, sense, and goodness, with which the young girl was endowed, Mother Bunch had the courageous frankness to advise the smith to enter into this marriage. The following scene took place whilst Florine, still occupied in reading the journal, had not yet taken the praiseworthy resolution of replacing it. It was ten o'clock at night. The workgirl, returned to Cardoville House, had just entered her chamber. Worn out by so many emotions, she had thrown herself into a chair. The deepest silence reigned in the house. It was now and then interrupted by the soughing of a high wind, which raged without and shook the trees in the garden. A single candle lighted the room, which was papered with dark green. That peculiar tint, and the hunchback's black dress, increased her apparent paleness. Seated in an arm-chair by the side of the fire, with her head resting upon her bosom, her hands crossed upon her knees, the work-girl's countenance was melancholy and resigned; on it was visible the austere satisfaction which is felt by the consciousness of a duty well performed.
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File: 0192_with-woman.png
Summary: elderly woman in a room with a table and a teacup, holding a glowing star in her hand, with a starry night sky in the background.
Caption: The image depicts an elderly woman sitting in a chair, holding a glowing object in her hand. The woman is dressed in a white robe and is seated on a chair with a red cushion. The background is dark, with a starry sky visible, suggesting a nighttime setting.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard by Joseph Conrad): Then giving up the empty cup into his young friend’s hand, extended with a smile, he continued to expatiate upon the patriotic nature of the San Tome mine for the simple pleasure of talking fluently, it seemed, while his reclining body jerked backwards and forwards in a rocking-chair of the sort exported from the United States. The ceiling of the largest drawing-room of the Casa Gould extended its white level far above his head. The loftiness dwarfed the mixture of heavy, straight-backed Spanish chairs of brown wood with leathern seats, and European furniture, low, and cushioned all over, like squat little monsters gorged to bursting with steel springs and horsehair. There were knick-knacks on little tables, mirrors let into the wall above marble consoles, square spaces of carpet under the two groups of armchairs, each presided over by a deep sofa; smaller rugs scattered all over the floor of red tiles; three windows from the ceiling down to the ground, opening on a balcony, and flanked by the perpendicular folds of the dark hangings. The stateliness of ancient days lingered between the four high, smooth walls, tinted a delicate primrose-colour; and Mrs. Gould, with her little head and shining coils of hair, sitting in a cloud of muslin and lace before a slender mahogany table, resembled a fairy posed lightly before dainty philtres dispensed out of vessels of silver and porcelain.
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File: 0193_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with wings is dancing in the sky
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long curly hair, wearing a flowing white dress, standing on a small hill. She is adorned with large, orange feathered wings that extend from her back, adding a sense of movement and dynamism to the scene. The background is a gradient of warm tones, with a soft, golden light emanating from the top left corner, creating a sense of depth and atmosphere.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue: She held up her cheek to him, and he kissed it solemnly in the shadow of the little young oak that fluttered its leaves wistfully in the breeze that was getting up--and then very soberly, saying little, they walked back to the cottage. He was going abroad for his vacation, not saying to himself even that he preferred not to be present at the wedding, but resigning himself to the necessity, for it was not to be till the middle of September, and it would be breaking up his holiday had he to come back at that time. So this little interview was a leave-taking as well as a solemn engagement for all the risks and dangers of life. The pain in it, after that very sharp moment in the copse, was softened down into a sadness not unsweet, as they came silently together from out of the shadow into the quiet hemisphere of sky and space, which was over the little centre of the cottage with its human glimmer of fire and lights. The sky was unusually clear, and among those soft, rose-tinted clouds of the sunset, which were no clouds at all, had risen a young crescent of a moon, just about to disappear, too, in the short course of one of her earliest nights. They lingered for a moment before they went indoors. The depth of the combe was filled with the growing darkness, but the ridges above were still light and softly edged with the silver of the moon, and the distant road, like a long, white line, came conspicuously into sight, winding for a little way along the hill-top unsheltered, before it plunged into the shadow of the trees--the road that led into
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File: 0194_with-woman.png
Summary: The painting depicts a young woman with a crown of flowers on her head. She is standing in front of a green background with flowers and a decorative frame.
Caption: The image depicts a woman dressed in a black dress with a white lace collar, adorned with a large red flower crown and multiple necklaces. The background is a dark green color, and the woman is positioned in the center of the frame, with her right hand resting on a stone surface.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue: This affair arranged, the regular lesson followed. During a brief interval, employed by the pupils in ruling their books, my eye, ranging carelessly over the benches, observed, for the first time, that the farthest seat in the farthest row--a seat usually vacant--was again filled by the new scholar, the Mdlle. Henri so ostentatiously recommended to me by the directress. To-day I had on my spectacles; her appearance, therefore, was clear to me at the first glance; I had not to puzzle over it. She looked young; yet, had I been required to name her exact age, I should have been somewhat nonplussed; the slightness of her figure might have suited seventeen; a certain anxious and pre-occupied expression of face seemed the indication of riper years. She was dressed, like all the rest, in a dark stuff gown and a white collar; her features were dissimilar to any there, not so rounded, more defined, yet scarcely regular. The shape of her head too was different, the superior part more developed, the base considerably less. I felt assured, at first sight, that she was not a Belgian; her complexion, her countenance, her lineaments, her figure, were all distinct from theirs, and, evidently, the type of another race--of a race less gifted with fullness of flesh and plenitude of blood; less jocund, material, unthinking. When I first cast my eyes on her, she sat looking fixedly down, her chin resting on her hand, and she did not change her attitude till I commenced the lesson. None of the Belgian girls would have
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File: 0195_with-woman.png
Summary: a woman with long black hair and gold jewelry is looking at the camera
Caption: The image depicts a woman with long, dark hair adorned with golden accessories, including earrings and a headpiece. The background is a gradient of warm hues, with a golden halo surrounding the woman, creating a mystical and ethereal atmosphere. The woman's face is the focal point of the image, with her eyes closed and a serene expression.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Gertrude's Marriage by W. Heimburg): He had felt when he received the news as if a golden shower had fallen into his lap; it is difficult living in a city of millionaires on the salary of an assessor. And then--he had received a wound there in that brilliant bewildering life, and the scar still made itself felt at times--for instance when an elegant equipage dashed by him--black horses with liveries of black and silver and on the light-gray cushions a woman's figure, dark ostrich feathers waving above a face of marble whiteness, the luxuriant gold brown hair fastened in a knot on the neck and ah! looking so coldly at him out of her great blue eyes. After such a meeting he felt depressed for days. "A milliner's doll, a heartless woman," he called her bitterly, but he had once believed quite the reverse a whole year long till one morning he saw her betrothal in the paper. She married a banker who had often served as the butt of her ridicule. But--he had a million!
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File: 0196_with-woman.png
Summary: The subject of the photograph is a young woman with short dark hair, wearing a green dress with a floral pattern, and a necklace.
Caption: The image depicts a young woman with short, dark hair, wearing a green dress with intricate floral patterns. She is turned to the side, with her face and upper body facing the left side of the frame. The background is a solid green color, which contrasts with the woman's dress and enhances the overall color scheme of the image.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that identity is often worn before it is understood.
Monologue (Queechy, Volume I by Elizabeth Wetherell): Miss Anastasia was a little surprised and a good deal gratified, Fleda saw, by her coming, and played the hostess with great benignity. The quilting-frame was stretched in an upper room, not in the long kitchen, to Fleda's joy; most of the company were already seated at it, and she had to go through a long string of introductions before she was permitted to take her place. First of all, Earl Douglass's wife, who rose up, and taking both Fleda's hands, squeezed and shook them heartily, giving her, with eye and lip, a most genial welcome. This lady had every look of being a very clever woman "a manager," she was said to be; and, indeed, her very nose had a little pinch, which prepared one for nothing superfluous about her. Even her dress could not have wanted another breadth from the skirt, and had no fullness to spare about the body neat as a pin, though; and a well-to-do look through it all. Miss Quackenboss Fleda recognised as an old friend, gilt beads and all. Catherine Douglass had grown up to a pretty girl during the five years since Fleda had left Queechy, and gave her a greeting, half-smiling, half-shy. There was a little more affluence about the flow of her drapery, and the pink ribbon round her neck was confined by a little dainty Jew's-harp of a brooch; she had her mother's pinch of the nose too. Then there were two other young ladies Miss Letitia Ann Thornton, a tall-grown girl in pantalettes, evidently a would-be aristocrat, from the air of her head and lip, with a well-looking face, and looking well knowing of the
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File: 0197_with-woman.png
Summary: a young woman with a flower crown and earrings is standing in front of a full moon
Caption: The image depicts a woman with a serene expression, wearing a dark, patterned dress adorned with white flowers. She is facing away from the viewer, with her head slightly tilted to the right. The background is a warm, golden hue, suggesting a sunset or sunrise.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (In Blue Creek Caon by Anna Chapin Ray): The stove had been the first thing to be unpacked, and by the time the last guy-rope was made fast, the last roll of bedding opened and arranged in its place, the welcome call to supper was sounded, and they gathered about the long table, spread in the open air, in the golden sunset light. Then the elders settled themselves for the evening, glad to rest after their long ride, while the children raced up and down the camp, exploring all the nooks and corners of their little domain, before throwing themselves down on a pile of blankets to watch the full moon as it rose from a bank of cloud just above the low hills to the eastward, and threw its white light over their gay group. Fifteen feet away from them Mrs. Burnam sat in the doorway of her tent, with Louise at her feet. The girl's golden hair was glistening in the moonlight, as she raised her head to speak to the topographer of the party, a sandy-haired, jovial young fellow, so lately come from "Sheff" that he retained all the slang and easy assurance of the genuine college boy. Ten months of camp life had made him hail with delight the prospect of paying court to a pretty girl; and he had attached himself to her side to the utter exclusion of Dr. Brownlee and the grave, taciturn leveller, who had retired from the contest and was devoting himself to Mrs. Burnam, whom he had known for years. For a few moments, the doctor stood looking on; then he turned away and joined the group of children, who received him enthusiastically.
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File: 0198_with-woman.png
Summary: a young woman with a flower crown and earrings is standing in front of a full moon
Caption: The image depicts a woman with a serene expression, wearing a dark, floral-patterned robe. She is facing away from the viewer, with her head slightly tilted to the right. The background is a warm, golden hue, suggesting a sunset or sunrise.
Sore Truth: The sore truth is that meaning is always constructed after the image is seen.
Monologue (Ten Girls from History by Kate Dickinson Sweetser): True indeed, but her Majesty, Queen Victoria, even at the moment of doffing her crown to give her dog a bath, could with equal grace and capability have answered a summons to discuss grave national issues, and would have shown both good judgment and wisdom in the discussion. A wonderful little woman she was, young for her task, but ol
