“...So she is a purebred southerner. I would understand this even if I had never listened to Ruth Draper or read Mars Chen. There was a slyness in Ailey, sweetened by an ingenuous, talkative kindness, and an unchanging chill - the result of an endless struggle with the heat; her appearance suggested the thoughts of devoted fathers, brothers, admirers, the succession of whom went back to the heroic times of the South. In her voice one could hear the intonations with which they gave orders to slaves or killed Yankee captains on the spot, then others were soft, enveloping, consonant in their unusual charm with that night. I almost didn’t see her in the dark, but when I got up to leave, it was obvious that that I shouldn’t hesitate,” Ailee stood in the orange light coming from the doorway. She was petite and very fair; the feverish flush of the overly painted cheeks was aggravated by the nose powdered white like a clown; but through this mask she shone like a star..."