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Updated: May 23, 2025
Georg was a blond, powerful young giant. A head taller than I blue-eyed, from his mother, now dead square-jawed, and a complexion pink and white. He was slow to anger. He seldom spoke impulsively; and usually with a slow, quiet drawl. Always he seemed looking at life and people with a half-humorous smile looking at the human pageant with its foibles, follies and frailties tolerantly.
He was a square-jawed, severe, heavily built person, with a long relentless upper lip, cheeks ruddy from the open air; engaged in the contracting business; and he had a brogue that would have charmed a mavis off a tree. Mr. Tutt looked hopelessly at Tutt. Babson and O'Brien had won. Once more Mr. Tutt struggled against his fate. Was Mr.
And I whispered, "It's Grantline! We're safe, Anita, my darling!" Death had been so close! Those horrible last minutes on the Planetara had shocked us, marked us. We stood trembling. And Grantline and his men came bounding up, weird, inflated figures. A helmeted figure touched me. I saw through the helmetpane the visage of a stern-faced, square-jawed young man. "Grantline? Johnny Grantline?"
As long as Uncle Jerry's spare, ascetic form and deeply-graved square-jawed face filled his accustomed corner by the northwest window of Avonlea church no revivalist might venture therein, although the majority of the congregation, including the minister, would have welcomed one warmly.
Full vision was on; a big, square-jawed, lean, tanned face looked out at them from the screen. "Huh? How come? And who's 'we'?" "My wife and I." Second Officer Theodore "Hercules" Jones was somewhat embarrassed. "I got married, too, day before yesterday.
At every quarter that shining mop was uneven, because badly cut by Big Tom Barber, his foster father, whose name belied his tonsorial ability. Below that wild shock of colorful hair was a face that, when clean, could claim attention on its own account. It was a square-jawed little face over which the red was quick to come, though, unhappily, it did not stay.
The little second girl answered it one of the flitting, worthless, temporary occupants of that position. "Tell Ellen to come here," said her mistress. At the appearance of the cook, Lydia's white face went a little whiter. "Did you use my writing desk last evening?" she asked. Ellen looked up, her large, square-jawed face like a mask through which her eyes probed her mistress' expression.
Small, dark, Slavonic women, with gaily-colored scarfs around their heads and children in their arms; Poles in shabby coats and astrakhan caps; tall blond Scandinavians, square-jawed, cool-blooded and patient; short, sturdy Italians with felt hats and gay cravats; a handful of pale-brown Siamese jugglers or gymnasts with flat gold-embroidered caps on, and tired, listless faces, melancholy and pallid from cold and seasickness.
Simpson was at this time forty-eight years old, a man with a long, square-jawed face, his skin tanned by exposure on shipboard, in the army, and on the farm, and his mustache cut in a straight line over a large straight mouth. He wore clerical eyeglasses and unclerical clothes. His opponents called him clownish; his friends declared him Lincolnesque.
"Until five years ago," said the policeman. "It was torn down then." The man in the doorway struck a match and lit his cigar. The light showed a pale, square-jawed face with keen eyes, and a little white scar near his right eyebrow. His scarfpin was a large diamond, oddly set.
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