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He looked ten years older, with lank, dishevelled hair hanging matted over a moist forehead, the cheeks ashen-white, the full lips bloodless and hanging, flabby and parted, displaying both rows of yellow teeth that shook against each other. The whole figure looked bowed, as if shrunk within itself.
Then, in a moment of sickening misery, Kittredge saw the door open and a black figure enter, a black figure with an ashen-white face and frightened eyes. It was Pussy Wilmott, treading the hard way of the transgressor with her hair done most becomingly, and breathing a delicate violet fragrance. "Take him into the outer room," directed the judge, "until I ring."
He carefully maneuvered the very last of the novelties he had built into an originally simple Lawlor drive-unit. The two ships came together with a distinct clanking sound. It seemed horribly loud. Thal jerked open the door, ashen-white. "W-we hit something! Wh-when do we fight?" Hoddan said ruefully: "I forgot. The fighting's over. But bring your stun-pistols.
Only the man in the front row with the iron-grey eyes and iron-hard mouth made no movement or sound of any sort. He merely watched with unchanging intentness the face that gleamed, ashen-white, above the shimmering metallic green tights that clothed the dancer's slim body. The noise ceased as the wild tarantella proceeded.
"Good-morning," said Jimmie Dale again. "Your name's Hagan, Bert Hagan isn't it? And you work for Isaac Brolsky in the secondhand shop over on West Broadway don't you?" The boy's lips quivered, and the gaunt, hollow, half-starved face, white, ashen-white now, was pitiful. "I I guess you got me," he faltered "I I suppose you're a plain-clothes man, though I never knew dicks wore masks."
"The Pobble that lost his toes Had once as many as we." The door opened. Herbert stood on the threshold beckoning to her. She rose in terror, the child in her arms, and went out to him. In a minute she reappeared in the doorway, her face ashen-white, and called to the little boy. He ran to her, and Roger rose, looking for the hat he had put down on entering.
A patch of blue water shone at the foot, framing a small dark square the signboard of the "Four Lords" Inn. Just now there were two or three men gathered under the signboard. As Young Zeb drew near he saw that they wore pig-tails and round shiny hats: and, as he noticed this, his face, which had been pale for the last five minutes, grew ashen-white.
It approached her; it turned aside; it passed above her, hesitated, sank, touched her! Ashen-white, she staggered to her feet and faced him. A lithe boyish figure with wide boyish eyes and a tanned boyish face, Canute gazed incredulously; rubbed his eyes and looked again. "In the Troll's name, who are you?" he ejaculated. "How came you here?" The pale lips moved, but no sound came from them.
One day in the middle of spring, the little door in the prison gate opened, and a tall man stepped out and looked about him with eyes blinking at the light which fell upon his ashen-white face. His step faltered and he had to lean for support against the wall; he looked as if he were about to go back again, but he drew a deep breath and went out on to the open ground.
One day in the middle of spring, the little door in the prison gate opened, and a tall man stepped out and looked about him with eyes blinking at the light which fell upon his ashen-white face. His step faltered and he had to lean for support against the wall; he looked as if he were about to go back again, but he drew a deep breath and went out on to the open ground.
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