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Updated: May 1, 2025
In order to give the reader an idea of the nature of the data upon which these analyses were made, we reproduce here, in ordinary language, the information contained in the chart made out for Subject Number One: Sex Male. Nationality Scotch. Occupation Teacher. Date of Birth March 19, 1891. Color Eyes, medium; hair, skin and beard, slightly brunette.
You're the fair maiden of my choice, Dodiekins, even if you aren't so rich as some." "Fair? but I'm a brunette," she corrected. "It's Genevieve you're thinking of. Confess now, it is, isn't it?" "No, indeed, no!" he protested. "I prefer brunettes always have! You're a perfect brunette, Dodiekins. I've always liked you more than Genevieve.
"It was some little while before I could forgive the wrong done me by the nun in being thus happy in her cell, in contradiction to all the rules of romance; I diverted my spleen, however, by watching, for a day or two, the pretty coquetries of a dark-eyed brunette, who, from the covert of a balcony shrouded with flowering shrubs and a silken awning, was carrying on a mysterious correspondence with a handsome, dark, well-whiskered cavalier, who lurked frequently in the street beneath her window.
Vesta was almost a brunette, with the rich colors of her type eyebrows like the raven's wing, ripe, red lips, and hair whose darkness and length, released from the crown into which she wound it, might have spun her garments. Her eyes were of a steel-blue, in which the lights had the effect of black. She was dark with sky breaking through, like the rich dusk and twilights over the Chesapeake.
Then she took her son Valentine to the social gatherings, where the young lads and lasses, beneath the eyes of their parents, made merry with one another in all meekness and sobriety. But Valentine led neither blonde nor brunette out to dance.
Looks good-natured, with little other expression. Three buns in her bag, and a large apple. Has a habit of attacking her provisions in school-hours. Rosa Milburn. Sixteen. Brunette, with a rare ripe flush in her cheeks. Color comes and goes easily. Eyes wandering, apt to be downcast. Moody at times. Said to be passionate, if irritated. Finished in high relief.
Reader, will you wonder? here is the inscription: "Qui Dæmone pejus? Mulier rixosa: fug ..." "But what does it mean?" said my curious brunette. "Señora, that you are lovely." "Stuff, sir! not at all;" and she tossed her graceful head pettishly; "I really wish you to translate it." "Well here, then: 'Qui Dæmone pejus' dark women; 'mulier rixosa' are the loveliest." "No, no!
Forestier once out of sight, Duroy felt free, and again he joyously touched the gold pieces in his pocket; then rising, he mingled with the crowd. He soon discovered the blonde and the brunette. He went toward them, but when near them dared not address them. The brunette called out to him: "Have you found your tongue?" He stammered: "Zounds!" too bashful to say another word.
Was there beauty in the oval cheek, now wearing the warm bloom of the brunette, or the dark, long-lashed eye, which drooped with the burden of unuttered thoughts?
She was slight and good-looking, with the clear complexion of a brunette. Her features were not perhaps very regular, but her glossy black hair was a beauty in itself. She had a pair of dark, melting eyes, and her wide, high forehead showed that she was gifted with great intelligence. There was an air of restrained voluptuousness about her, and she seemed the very embodiment of passion.
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