Kent had never seen anything like it.

It clung to her face, her neck, her shoulders and arms, and shrouded her slender body to her hips, lovely in its confusion.

Little drops of water glistened in it like diamonds in the lamp glow, trickling down and dropping to the floor.

It was like a glowing coat of velvety sable beaten by storm.
Marette ran her arms up through it, shaking it out in clouds, and a mist of rain leaped out from it, some of it striking Kent in the face.
He forgot Fingers.

He forgot Kedsty.