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Updated: May 28, 2025
What sort of hair, for instance? What colour is it?" "Brack, mass'r; brack as a boot." "Is it straight hair?" "No, mass'r ob course not Aurore am a quaderoom." "It curls?" "Well, not dzactly like this hyar;" here Scipio pointed to his own kinky head-covering; "but for all daat, mass'r, it curls what folks call de wave." "I understand; it falls down to her shoulders?"
"You must go to bed early this night, children," said Mrs. Twistytail after supper. "The sooner you are asleep the sooner will it be Christmas." "We will," said Curly Tail and Flop Ear and Baby Pinky, and off they trotted, after kissing their papa and mamma good-night, their little kinky tails flopping up and down like a lady's earrings when she runs after a trolley car.
Macauley, waving to them from the other end of the platform, met them at the step. On the morning of the third day the party reached their destination. They were met at the small station by a staid but comfortable equipage, driven by an old family coachman with grizzled, kinky hair and a black face full of solemnity.
As to the cook himself, he had a perplexed droop in every curve of his rounded shoulders. His kinky gray wool was tousled from perpetual undecided scratching, and his eyes had something of the dumb sadness of the dog as he rolled them up in despair. Life was not a matter of indifference to him. Quite the contrary. The problem of damp wood + matches = cooking-fire was the whole tangle of existence.
She was two or three shades lighter than the man, and had the peculiar brown, kinky hair, straight, flat nose, and speckled, gray eyes which mark the metif. Tottling on the floor at the feet of the man, and caressing his knees, was a child of perhaps two years. As we neared the house, we heard the voice of the Overseer issuing from the doorway on the other side of the pine-tree.
Toby's hair is very short and kinky, and his mouth is wide, and always curves up a little at the corners, as if he were laughing; his eyes are astonishingly bright; but all the people's eyes are bright in Pokonoket. "Pokonoket is a very dark country. It always was dark. The most ancient historians make no mention of its ever being light in Pokonoket.
It was not fixed on to her dress, nor to her wreath, but was tied on to two little kinky curls at each side of her head by bright green ribbons, after the fashion of a prize filly of the draught order at a country fair.
Once it was found in the heart of Africa, in the kinky hair of a native. There's blood on it, too, for men have been killed trying to steal it, and trying to prevent its being stolen. It's the most valuable necklace in the world."
"I've been robbed, that's what's the matter. Did you take my money, you black rascal?" and Mr. Post leaped from his berth and made a jump for the porter. Just as he grabbed the negro by his kinky wool the conductor, who had been asleep in his berth, emerged. He was struck squarely by the porter, and the two went down in a heap in the aisle, with Mr. Post on top of them.
"We lost no time, you see," added Orchil, caressing the long pomaded ends of his kinky moustache and trying to catch a glimpse of them out of his languid oriental eyes. He had been trying to catch this glimpse for thirty years; he was a persistent man with plenty of leisure. "We lost no time," repeated Draymore, "because it's a devilish unsavoury situation for us.
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