The Girl from Nova Scotia

One could say a few things about the girl from Nova Scotia.
First of all, that she was by herself, and not restless.
Further, that she was petite, except for her shoes, her gums and her mammalian protuberances (carefully wrapped in a tight dress). She wore no make up to speak of.
Also, that she was talkative, both in French, and in English, although she spoke softly and never felt the need to interrupt. Her French sounded peculiar, perhaps a bit sloppy, as if she was drunk or stoned, or both, but she was neither. She hadn't gone shopping coffee, and she did not drink much wine.
Her English – New Scottish? – was interesting, especially at the end of words. Her slight accent was apparent in the pronunciation, for instance, of 'out'. The 'ou' didn't sound like American or English, and the 't' didn't cut off the word, but extended it a little. If this sounds coquettish, it wasn't.
She did have a sense of humor, although, like with some women, you had to feed it.
On a map she pointed out her habitat and explained that driving to her parents took her eight hours. She also showed pictures, of what I thought was her house, but turned out to be the view from her window.
The place looked desolate.
She seemed perfectly fine with it.