“Soft and sleek – and looking – looking…Sloe-eyed – moving through the woods on a carpet of wet brown leaves (or anyway a carpet – the best – and long – and deep)…No sound – only a rhythmic beat…Honey dripping from her temples…Eyes unblinking – glinting green – challenging…Her texture bread-dough soft – and smooth and tawny – rising alive…He has penned in a lioness…No claws for those she loves – babies – mate – and even friends – a few…The best – the best (what the hell – they must be – they’re mine)…You are subdued by her lavish enthusiasm – lulled by the repetition of your own extraordinary virtues…You are king among mice – secure – remarkable – you have no equal…You belong to the kingdom of her children – she will protect you…But if you do not belong: look out…No zulac from the bazaar has a sharper knife – can use it without pause – direct – piercing…Love or Hate…Yes or No…Good or Bad…Victorian clarity…Soft – sun-serene surface – surface – surface – and under it – Woman.”
Lauren Bacall by Katharine Hepburn
