Lily's pretty much summed up in the observations of other characters.
Luis says:
"She
ain't blonde. She's got kinda light brown hair. Wears little spectacles
like a schoolmarm or something. An' she looks about Fiona's age…."
"Fiona's what? 19? 18?" Wash wrinkled his brow.
"She's 19." Storm said. "Quick, eyes, height, whatever. I want to go to sleep."
"Lessee,
don' rush me. This is important stuff. "I think her hair's kinda long,
she had it piled on top of her head an' it was comin' out in little
frizzies. Has light gray eyes. Looks like she's been on the road some,
an' her face is a little red from the sun. She's about as tall as…."
Luis drew himself up to his diminutive height and gestured a couple of
inches over his head. "This. About like Tommy. She's a little skinny,
but she carried them bags into the house before I got to her, so she
must be strong enough. She's sweet lookin'. Got a soft voice, too. I
liked that."
Saint's observation:
His
gaze traveled discretely up her arm as her hand slid off the pot handle
and took inventory on their way to her face. Slim, but, as Luis had
correctly commented, strong enough. Her arms below her rolled-up
shirtsleeves were a little sun-browned from her travels. Her neat apron
hung from a trim waist, and her slight build swelled girlishly beneath
her calico bodice. Open, readable face, her cheeks flushed with warmth
and self-consciousness, and her clear grey eyes, hiding behind a pair of
frumpy little spectacles, were honest and guileless. Her light brown
hair was piled on top of her head in roll, wisps escaping in slightly
unruly tendrils. She wasn't the fiery beauty that Fiona was, but she was
quietly pretty, and Saint found her gentle face appealing. She wasn't
the sort of girl he was used to dealing with in town,that was for sure.
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