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237 pages, Paperback
First published December 1, 1989
The girl was lithe and supple as a withe, with wide, bright blue eyes and skin like the pale honey of wild bees. She had about her an aura, a warmth she wore like some fine fur; which had only ever been torn aside by Ithaqua, black stalker between the stars. Now, in her brown jacket and trousers of soft leather, she seemed almost boyish, and yet fragile for all that. But her unaffected grace and loveliness, and her youthful litheness, were perhaps set off by a not-quite innocence; for Moreen had seen the Wind-Walker at his worst, and no one could remain wholly innocent after that.Brian Lumley was a lucky man: he got to do what he loved, he found success with it, both financial and fan-based, and he lived a long life. I hope he dwells now in fabled Ulthar surrounded by cats.
[. . .]
Armandra stepped round in front of him. Draped in a deep-pile, white fur smock, still her figure was the answer to any man's dream, the body of an exceedingly beautiful woman. Almost unchanged from the first time Silberhutte had seen her nearly six years ago, Armandra was Complete Woman. Her long, full body was a wonder of half-seen, half-imagined curves growing out of the perfect pillars of her thighs; he neck, framed in the red, flowing silk of her hair, her face was oval as her eyes and classically boned. With her straight nose, delicately rounded at its tip, and her Cupid's bow of a mouth, perfect in shape if perhaps a shade too ample, the Woman of the Winds was a beautiful picture of femininity. But where her flesh was pale as snow, those great eyes of hers were green as the boundless northern oceans of Earth. Yes, and they were just as deep.