29 SEPTEMBER 1950, Page 6

The White Dancer

SHE was the solitary white dancer, she who is always moving away, slowly away on flawless feet, circling the grey and curving sound, with small flutter of pas de bourree as her arms reach to the distant hands, the voices she must never answer.

She was the sylphide and the swan delighting with dream or loving or death, the end of movement in her arabesque invisible now, moving away beyond a moonlit curtain, where tall empty canvas mirrors will never reflect her motionless face.

MARGARET CROSLAND.