With quiet audacity she appeared in her nakedness, certain of the sovereign power of her flesh.
Some gauze enveloped her, but her rounded shoulders, her Amazonian bosom, her wide hips, which swayed to and fro voluptuously, her whole body, in fact, could be divined, nay discerned, in all its foamlike whiteness of tint beneath the slight fabric she wore.

It was Venus rising from the waves with no veil save her tresses.

And when Nana lifted her arms the golden hairs in her armpits were observable in the glare of the footlights.

There was no applause.

Nobody laughed any more.
The men strained forward with serious faces, sharp features, mouths irritated and parched.