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I'm afraid you won't be very comfortable. 'Oh! that won't matter. It may be only for to-night. If I'm too much in the way I'll ask Mr. Lennox to put me somewhere else. On that Kate entered. It was a long, narrow, whitewashed room, smelling strongly of violet-powder and clothes. Nobody had arrived yet, and the dresses lay spread out on chairs awaiting the wearers.
There were a good many ladies there, pale, I could not quite make out whether from ill-health or from violet-powder; but I think the latter had something to do with their pallor, for, after drinking, when they wiped their lips, roses began to bloom, wherever the napkin touched.
John's head in a charger," as a splenetic contemporary observed, with a nimbus of musk and violet-powder enveloping them as they passed before vulgar mortals, these rapacious and insolent courtiers were the impersonation of extortion and oppression to the Parisian populace.
He tried the effect of ear-rings, ribbons, and collars; wound up the watch, though it was n't time; burnt his inquisitive nose with smelling-salts; deluged his grimy handkerchief with Fan's best cologne; anointed his curly crop with her hair-oil; powdered his face with her violet-powder; and finished off by pinning on a bunch of false ringlets, which Fanny tried, to keep a profound secret.
Bluebell observed that her decorative preparations were restricted to a dab of violet-powder on her nose, and a slight application of lip-salve. "I can't let her go down such a figure," thought she, "though she is dreadfully angry with me," and, seizing a comb, began silently to effect a reformation in Coey's chevelure. "Oh, thank you," said the other distantly. "Isn't it right? Never mind.
John's head in a charger," as a splenetic contemporary observed, with a nimbus of musk and violet-powder enveloping them as they passed before vulgar mortals, these rapacious and insolent courtiers were the impersonation of extortion and oppression to the Parisian populace.
"I never, never, never did see anything so sweet. Smell her, Katy! Doesn't she smell like heaven?" Little Rose was indeed a delicious baby, all dimples and good-humor and violet-powder, with a skin as soft as a lily's leaf, and a happy capacity for allowing herself to be petted and cuddled without remonstrance.
An elderly lady, richly dressed, with diamonds sparkling in her gray hair, came rustling down the steps, bringing with her faint odours of patchouly and violet-powder.
A cloud of violet-powder, a vague white mist, seemed still to be floating in the air, from the effects of her over-powdering her face and neck. It seemed to cover her eyelashes, eyebrows, and the hair on her temples like snow, while her cheeks were plastered with it, and layers of it covered her nostrils, the corners of her eyes, and her chin.
"What nonsense! How could that wither me? It is only violet powder what they put on babies." "And who are the Herods that put it on babies?" "Their own mothers, that love them ten times more than the fathers do." "And kill a hundred of them for one a man ever kills. Mothers! the most wholesale homicides in the nation. We will examine your violet-powder: bring it down here."
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