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Updated: June 29, 2025
All around the horizon steel-gray clouds were rising, and a soft sort of a haze hung about us and took the life out of the sunshine, and the wind fell away until there was almost nothing of it, and that little fitful while with the dying out of it the sea began to stir slowly with a long oily swell.
She planted herself squarely across my path, now regarding me with contracted lids and a hard glint, till I felt fairly bayoneted by those steel-gray eyes. "Good-morning. Is Mr. Kirby about?" I inquired. There was no answer. Instead, the thin slit opened and let out a yell of almost yodel quality, penetrating as a warwhoop a yell that would carry near half a mile.
For he had a child's appetite for sweets, and was at this time past eighty, though still well-nigh as active as Antoine de Soyecourt had ever been, even when a good half-century ago he had served, with distinction under Louis Quatorze. To-night the Prince de Gatinais was all in steel-gray, of a metallic lustre, with prodigiously fine ruffles at his throat and wrists.
He had a resolute chin and a pair of hard, steel-gray eyes, which were set much too close together to leave great room for any attribution of an open-minded generosity. He and Mrs. Bates, under Marshall's promptings, bowed icily, and a cold and chilling silence immediately ensued. "Just like me," said Mrs. Bates, as she effected a hurried departure, "to blunder up against him as I did.
Thereafter, dissembling his chagrin as best he could, he kept on the lookout for Cowperwood at both of the clubs of which he was a member; but Cowperwood had avoided them during this period of excitement, and Mahomet would have to go to the mountain. So one drowsy June afternoon Mr. Schryhart called at Cowperwood's office. He had on a bright, new, steel-gray suit and a straw hat.
The black hair, the steel-gray eyes, brave and smiling, the noble features I recognized them at once, and leaping to my feet I advanced with outstretched hand. "John Carter!" I cried. "You?" "None other, my son," he replied, taking my hand in one of his and placing the other upon my shoulder. "And what are you doing here?" I asked.
She was a dangerous-looking, yellow-haired woman, with steel-gray eyes that is, if her eyes were not really green, as to which there was doubt. But there was no doubt at all that she was powerfully handsome. The abbate said that there was a famous portrait of her in one of these churches as a Saint Mary Magdalen with her hair down.
It was long, straight and square sided; its bare walls glared steel-gray in the sun, smooth, glistening surfaces that had been polished by wind and water. No weathered heaps of shale, no crumbled piles of stone obstructed its level floor.
Her face had a piquant smartness of expression, which might have been refined into a sharp edge, but for her natural hearty good-humor. Her head was smoothly formed, her face a full oval, her hair and eyes blond and blue in a strong light, but brown and steel-gray at other times, and her complexion of that ripe fairness into which a ruddier color will sometimes fade.
They were alone; and they stood there in the path for a moment, looking into each other's eyes. "He is my husband," Lucia then found herself saying. "I am now Mrs. Pell." "What are we going to do?" Gilbert asked. He had the face of a dreamer, she thought. The steel-gray eyes were full of fire and longing. What had these few years done to him? "We are going to do nothing at all.
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