Quote by: Sarah Waters

Her corset was long, with a busk of steel; her waist, as I think I have said, was narrow: the kind of waist the doctors speak against, that gives a girl an illness. Her crinoline was made of watchspring. Her hair, inside its net, was fixed with half a pound of pins, and a comb of silver. Her petticoats and shimmy were calico. Underneath it all, however, she was soft and smooth as butter. Too soft, I thought her. I imagined her bruising. She was like a lobster without its shell. She stood in her stockings while I fetched her nightgown, her arms above her head, her eyes shut tight; and for a second I turned, and looked at her. My gaze was nothing to her. I saw her bosom, her bottom, her feather and everything and — apart from the feather, which was brown as a duck's — she was as pale as a statue on a pillar in a park. So pale she was, she seemed to shine.


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Author Bio


  • NameSarah Waters
  • Descriptionnovelist
  • BornJuly 21, 1966
  • CountryWales
  • ProfessionWoman Of Letters; Novelist
  • AwardsLambda Literary Award