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 and delicate—on the well-rounded wrist, the Marwari bracelet; on the well-rounded arm, the diamond-studded tar; on the well-rounded finger, the ring; on the well-rounded loins, the zone; over the well-rounded shoulders the golden chain; on the well-rounded neck the jewelled necklace;—the make of all the parts was exquisitely beautiful.

What is Tilottama about, sitting alone at the window of her chamber? Is she surveying the splendour of the evening sky? Why then are her eyes fixed on the ground? Is she enjoying the fragrant breeze blowing from the banks of the river? Why then minute drops of perspiration stand on her forehead? The breeze can only touch one side of her face. Is she then watching at the cattle grazing in the fields? Not even that; for the 'lowing herd' are by this time 'winding' to their fold. Is she listening to the kokila's song? If so, why does she look so pensive? No. Tilottama is seeing nothing, hearing nothing;—she is chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy.

At this girlish ago, what contemplation can possibly have absorbed all her faculties? Has her bosom been warmed by the witching influence of the first breath of love? Perhaps.

A maid-servant brought in a lamp. Leaving off thinking, Tilottama took up a book and sat down by the light. She knew to read, she had learnt Sanskrit from Abhiram Swami. What is she reading? Kadamvari. The book did not please her, and she put it down after reading a little. She then took up Vasavadatta by Subandhu. She read a while and then was plunged in abstraction; she read again, and was again lost in thought;—