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Updated: June 15, 2025
Taggett took lodging in a room in one of the most crowded of the low boarding-houses, a room accommodating two beds besides his own: the first occupied by a brother neophyte in marble-cutting, and the second by a morose middle-aged man with one eyebrow a trifle higher than the other, as if it had been wrenched out of line by the strain of habitual intoxication.
"There's just a lil' thing," he said to her, taking advantage of a moment when they were together after lunch, "that I'd value now more than anything else in the world." She answered by a lifted eyebrow and a glance that had not so much inquiry in it as she intended. "If we could just take a lil' walk together for a bit. Round by Claverings Park and all that. See the deer again and the old trees.
Staggchase, his friend's cousin and hostess for the time being; but his whole mind was taken up by the image of Mrs. Fenton, and in his ears like a refrain rang the words of the Persian hymn: "O thou, to the arch of whose eyebrow the new moon is a slave!" THERE BEGINS CONFUSION Henry VI., iv. 1. That afternoon at Mrs. Gore's had been no less significant to Maurice Wynne than to Philip Ashe.
To stop this nightmare he tried to count the gas-lamps: one, two, three, four, five but the same thought interrupted his calculation: "You are dead, since your betrothed is about to marry another." He was afraid he was going mad. A sharp pain shot across his forehead just above the right eyebrow.
But before Judge Marshall looked at his wife's cards he bent and kissed her on her flushed cheek, and Karen raised a trembling hand to tweak his grey mustache. Dundee, with uplifted eyebrow, queried Penny, who nodded shortly, conveying the information that this was the way the scene had really been played when there was no question of acting.
There, between your eyebrows, three straight lines running up and down; all the probate courts know that token, "Old Age, his mark." Put your forefinger on the inner end of one eyebrow, and your middle finger on the inner end of the other eyebrow; now separate the fingers, and you will smooth out my sign- manual; that's the way you used to look before I left my card on you. Professor.
Medart nodded, pleased by the clan-chief's calm reaction. "Yes." Then he raised an eyebrow, grinning, and said, "You knew, didn't you? That emphasis on the first 'are' was a giveaway." "We the clan-chiefs have known for centuries." Ryan sobered. "Or strongly suspected, at least; all the evidence pointed in that direction." "So why in Chaos haven't you done anything about it?" Medart demanded.
A red spot was in each coffee-coloured cheek, and the mole in her scanty eyebrow jerked ominously. Her lips were set in a taut line, and her angry little eyes were fixed upon a girl who sat by the window strumming a guitar, her chin raised with an air of placid impertinence. "Thou wilt stop this nonsense and cast no more glances at Juan Tornel!" commanded Doña Pomposa. "Thou little brat!
And people like that are the most serious threat facing our civilization today, atomic war not excepted." Dr. Doris Rives lifted a delicately penciled eyebrow over that. Melroy, pausing to relight his pipe, grinned at her. "You think that's the old obsession talking?" he asked. "Could be. But look at this plant, here.
The arch of the eyebrow was full of delicacy; the nose of masculine beauty; the habitual expression of the eyes kindly and sympathetic, but as he grew heated in talk, they sparkled like fire; the curves of the mouth bespoke an interesting mixture of finesse, grace, and geniality.
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