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Arnold glanced across the room. Mr. Starling was apparently a middle-aged man clean-shaven, with pale cheeks and somewhat narrow eyes. "An American, without a doubt," Arnold remarked. "Quite right. Now the lady in the gray satin with the wonderful coiffure she has looked at you already more than once. Her name is Lady Blennington, and she is always trying to discover new young men."
Brent, from London, this evening, and I left word at my rooms that if he came any time before ten he was to be sent on here. So, if he comes, show him up to me. But nobody else, Bunning." "Very good, your Worship," replied Bunning. "I'll see to it. Mr. Brent, from London." "You've seen him before," said the Mayor. "He was here last Christmas tall young fellow, clean-shaven. You'll know him."
He had sat down himself, and resting his elbow on the arm of his big office-chair, he rubbed his clean-shaven chin with his hand. "This is a very serious matter, gentlemen," he said at last. "A criminal charge is always serious," replied M. Folgat. "Upon my word," cried M. de Chandore, "you are not in doubt about Jacques's innocence?" M. Seneschal did not say, No.
Here two men entered the room. One of them was a very fat man whose blue serge clothes seemed to be in danger of falling from his sloping figure. He had a big face which resembled a young ox's face in expression, staring blue eyes and a grizzled moustache. The other man, who was much younger and frailer, had a thin, clean-shaven face.
It was a sinister but powerful face, the face of a debauched hero, clean-shaven, strongly eye-browed, keen-eyed, with huge, aggressive jaw, and an animal dewlap beneath it. The long, obstinate cheeks ran flush up to the narrow, sinister eyes. The mighty neck came down square from the ears and curved outwards into shoulders, which had lost nothing at the hands of the local artist.
"But all that's stopped now," he lamented. "A sailor's a gentleman these days. You can't raise your voice or your hand to them." At this moment he was addressed from the poop-rail above by the second mate, a medium-sized, heavily built, clean-shaven, blond man. "The tug's in sight with the crew, sir," he announced. The mate grunted an acknowledgment, then added, "Come on down, Mr.
The legislators in the front seats swung around, and people in the gallery craned forward to see a member standing at his seat in the extreme rear of the hall. He was a little man in an ill-fitting coat, his wizened face clean-shaven save for the broom-shaped beard under his chin, which he now held in his hand. His thin, nasal voice was somehow absurdly penetrating as he addressed the chair. Mr.
Ten years before, she would not have appreciated or understood him, this intellectual, clean-shaven, rigidly abstemious man, whose pleasures belonged to the fishing-rod and the gun and the horse, and who had come to be so great a friend of him who had been her best friend Father Bourassa.
His dark clean-shaven face was deeply lined; care or over-work had furrowed his brow; and the rather unkempt locks of black hair which fell over it were streaked with white. From the deep-set brown eyes looked sadness and fatigue, as well as a great kindness for his fellow-men. "I came the moment I received your letter," he said. "I had no idea you were back from London already." "Dr.
His age was about that of the doctor forty or so; and like the doctor he was rather stout and clean-shaven. Their Scotch accents mingled in greeting, the doctor's being the more marked. Buchanan shook my hand with a certain courtliness, indicating that he was well accustomed to receive strangers.
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