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Updated: June 28, 2025
He was tall, dark, athletic, straight, muscular, with a small dark mustache, dark, black-brown eyes, kinky black hair, and a fine, almost military carriage which he clothed always to the best advantage. A clever philanderer, it was quite his pride that he did not boast of his conquests. One look at him, however, by the initiated, and the story was told.
The big negro, with the chest and head of a gorilla, tossed his kinky white curls so violently that the ringlets danced. Billy, he declared, had been a pest; a fly that buzzed and buzzed and disturbed his slumbers. And now when the fly thought he slept he had caught and crushed it-so.
"I think Kinky ought to pay it," said Gregory. "He's got heaps of money in the Post-Office, and it's his fault, too." "The best thing to do," said Mrs. Avory, "is to telephone to Uncle Christopher and tell him all about it, and ask him to come over to-night and give us his advice. He always knows best." "And Mr. Scott and Mr. Lenox, too," said Robert. "Very well," said Mrs. Avory.
He was a tall, meager man, who dragged one leg stiffly when he walked, dressed in a wretched brown coat and dirty checkered trousers that fitted his lean, bony limbs tightly. A straw sombrero, artistic in spite of being broken, covered an enormous head and allowed his dirty gray, almost red, hair to straggle out long and kinky at the end like a poet's curls.
Yeah I is, Colonel!" and a negro, with a picturesque fringe of white, kinky hair, shuffled from the porter's quarters, where he had been enjoying a quiet chat with the black knight of the whisk broom. "What is you' desire, Colonel?" "I want peace and quiet, Shag! That's what I want!
Us picked out de nuts wid horse-shoe nails an' baked de taters in ashes. Den Mammy would pour herse'f an' her old man a cup o' wine. Den she'd mess it up wid wild cherry bark. It was bad den, but us gulped it down, anyhow. "Old Granny used to sing a song to us what went lak dis: 'Kinky head, whar-fore you skeered? Old snake crawled off, 'cause he's afeared.
All alone on Georgian Bay! The boat leaps and settles, leaps and settles. The oars fly in his face, and are jerked away. The boat falls on something solid. What is that? It hits the boat again. An oar flies out of Corkey's hand. His hand seizes the gunwale for security. A warmer hand is felt. Corkey pulls on the hand a head a kinky head comes next. The thing is alive, and is welcome.
"It is most frightfully important not to get a narrow or academic outlook, don't you think? A person like Ansell, who goes from Cambridge, home home, Cambridge it must tell on him in time." "But Mr. Ansell is a philosopher." "A very kinky one," said Tilliard abruptly. "Not my idea of a philosopher. How goes his dissertation?" "He never answers my letters," replied Rickie. "He never would.
They were very lazy horses, and it seemed a long time before they drew up at the station and Uncle Jonah climbed painfully out. Uncle Jonah was very old and black, and his hair was white and kinky. "Yo's Miss Hortense, isn't yo'?" he asked. "I come fo' to git yo'. I'se kinda' late 'cause Tom an' Jerry, dey jes' sa'ntered along."
All that troubled her and more, though perhaps in a different way, passed hourly through the old gray kinky head of Uncle Billy who happened at this very moment to be emerging stealthily from the woods below the house.
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