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At that time he had magnificent health, a fine form, vast and varied knowledge, and a command of language so great that he was a master of forensics. His speeches were fully equal to his later splendid efforts. In feature he was handsome: the face bold and masculine; eyes of piercing luster; and hair, which he tossed when in debate, like a lion's mane.
She paused a mere breathing-space; her free hand caressed his hair. You see ... she knows ... we've talked about it. We're like sisters, almost. As for Father ... well, we're less intimate. I did fancy he seemed the wee-est bit relieved when ... your news came...." The pain in his eyes checked her. "My blessed one, I won't have you daring to worry about it.
An exceedingly large number of victims was expected, for the pit was deeper than usual. Mechanically I approached the grave. At the bottom the water had gathered in a pool; my feet slipped; I came within an inch of falling in. My hair stood on end. The rain had drenched me to the skin. I shuddered and hastened into the laboratory. It was, as I have said, an abandoned chapel.
Grey-eyed she was like her brother; but her hair the colour of red wheat: her lips full and red, her chin round, her nose fine and straight.
The house itself was conventual in aspect, and Lady Channice, as she stood there in the quiet light at the window, looked not unlike a nun, were it not for her crown of pale gold hair that shone in the dark room and seemed, like the roses, to bring into it the brightness of an outer, happier world.
For Fanny was beautiful: tall, erect, finely coloured, with her delicately arched nose, her rich brown hair, her large lustrous grey eyes. A passionate woman a woman to be afraid of. So proud, so inwardly violent! She came of a violent race. It needed a woman to sympathize with her. Men had not the courage. Poor Fanny! She was such a lady, and so straight and magnificent.
And Hortense, the child with the royal air, Hortense, with her imperial brow and her hair rolled over its cushion, Hortense, the Chatelaine of Beau Sejour, the delicate, haughty, pale and impassioned daughter of a noble house, that Hortense, my Hortense, is nobody! Who in this great London will believe in me, who will care to know about Hortense or about Beau Sejour?
The bazars in Mukden were not unlike those throughout China in their arrangement, but containing not nearly so attractive a display of goods. The population seemed mixed, judging from the type of faces and from the head-dress of the women, some of them having the plain, smooth arrangement of the hair, while others followed the peculiar Manchu style.
Chichester looked at the flushed face of the young girl, at the mass of curly hair that had been carefully dressed by Bennett for dinner and was now hovering around her eyes untidily. The old lady straightened it: "Can you not keep your hair out of your eyes? What do you think will become of you?" "I hope to go to Heaven, like all good Catholics," said Peg. Mrs.
I made desperate effort to break away, but two men held me, one with knee pressed into my chest, the other uplifting the butt of a pistol over my head. There was not a word spoken, but I could see they were in uniform, although the fellow kneeling on me had the features and long black hair of an Indian.
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