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A gilded mirror filled up the space between two windows, curtained amply with blue damask. In this mirror I saw myself laid, not in bed, but on a sofa. I looked spectral; my eyes larger and more hollow, my hair darker than was natural, by contrast with my thin and ashen face.
The child was not yet sixteen, a fair little thing with soft ashen hair and honest gray eyes, the pink upon her cheek like that of a New England girl. At first this marriage which had been so unkindly conducted by Sammy, used by him apparently as a weapon of affront seemed to bring with it only good, only happiness.
As in practice on the day Hooker had pitched to him, Stone laced the ball straight over the center-field fence for a home run, and pandemonium broke loose and continued while he jogged slowly over the bases. The score was again tied. Roy Hooker had not been fully at ease, and his face turned almost ashen as he saw the ball disappearing beyond the fence.
He unfolded it with a grim smile, but scarce had he begun to read when his expression softened into one of terror, and his face grew ashen. Next it flared crimson, the veins on his brow stood out like ropes, and his eyes flashed furiously upon Madonna Lucrezia. She was reading, her bosom rising and falling in token of the excitement that possessed her.
"I tell you again, I don't believe it, but for your own sake speak!" "Yes, my child, speak!" entreated Padre Antonio, stepping before her. "Can't you see your silence is condemning you?" She looked up at him and saw that his face was ashen, colorless like the Captain's that he seemed to have suddenly aged.
The crew pulled off, and at that moment, to the horror of all who were on the Flora's deck, two slight jars again thrilled through her from stem to stern. Mr. Macrae and Bude gazed on each other with ashen faces. What had occurred? But still the boat's crew pulled gallantly towards the Flora, and, in a few moments, Miss Macrae stepped on deck, and was in her father's arms.
But if, as I have been taught, all this evil and misfortune was ordered and made my inevitable lot by Him, He has not been my friend, but my enemy. He's been against me, not for me." In the winter twilight the man's emaciated, unshorn face had the ghostly, ashen hue of death.
I heard him sigh like a despairing soul; I heard him pray, and I felt that he held his breath. The lamp had gone out, but he never noticed it; I blew up the embers and they shone upon his ashen face, which took a tinge of colour from their light; his eyes started in their sockets, they grew larger and larger, as if they would leap out.
"Thank you, Poynter!" said the Baron and glanced keenly at Themar. "It is but now that I had missed it." "Excellency," burst forth Themar desperately, "I found it this morning on the rug." "But," purred the Baron, "why seek a keyhole?" Themar's dark face was ashen. Philip, with a wholesome distaste for scenes, slipped away.
But her husband's ashen face told her a story of something far deeper: she knew that now he was involved in fearful trouble, and, whatever may have been her innermost thoughts, it was the first and irresistible impulse to throw all the blame upon her scapegoat.
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