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Updated: June 29, 2025
When the twister had subsided, thanks to the magic of Glinda and the Wizard, there stood a hideous green-faced woman in a black outfit. On her head she wore a black pointed hat. In her hand was a broomstick. "Who's sh-she?" stuttered Dorothy. "I don't know," replied Ozma. "She looks like a Witch! But not like any of the Witches I've ever known about!"
"Why it was, in fact, no more than a green-faced and red-haired god of plagues." Pao-yue, at this answer, spat at him contemptuously. "You are, in very truth, a useless fool!" he cried. "Haven't you even enough gumption for such a trifling job as this?" "What book, I wonder, have you again been reading, master?" Pei Ming continued.
She whom mademoiselle had addressed, a big-nosed, loud-voiced lady, older than any of the others, answered her bluntly: "You look a shade too green-faced to-day, mademoiselle, for anything to become you." "What can you expect, Mme. de Brie?" Mlle. Blanche promptly demanded. "Mlle. de Montluc is weary and worn from her vigils at your son's bedside."
The funeral gods, green-faced, with the mouths of monkeys or jackals, held out with a gesture hieratic in its stiffness the whip, the crook, and the sceptre. The eye of Osiris opened its red ball outlined with antimony.
The most noticeable instance was a pair of green-faced eight-day clocks, ticking alternately, which were severally two and half minutes and three minutes striking the hour of twelve, one proclaiming, in Italian flourishes, Thomas Wood as the name of its maker, and the other arched at the top, and altogether of more cynical appearance that of Ezekiel Saunders.
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