Seated on the sofa, her legs drawn up under
   her, with her left hand, she
  lightly stroked the brow of Politesse.
 Her pet silently blinked his eyes,
  gazing serenely into the middle distance.
 Behind a glass, tetra waved, suspended,
  like paper carp flown in a breeze.
   She did not look up from her novel.
 A chime-clock on the mantel
  went quietly about its calculations,
  and everything in the room lay
   with exactness around her,
    charmed by the word withheld.