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Updated: June 2, 2025
He was lying back in an old, worn-out easy-chair, with a woman's shawl thrown across his shoulders, for the night was chilly. His face had the first sickly hue and emaciation of the disease, and was probably refined by it. It was a handsome, regular, well-cut face, narrow across the brows, with thin, firm lips, and eyes perfect in shape, but cold and glittering as steel.
He knew none of the details of women's dress, and he saw none of the details of her neat shirt-waist and well-cut tailor suit. He saw only the effect in a general, sketchy way. She looked right. This was in the absence of anything wrong or out of the way. "She's a trim little good-looker," was his verdict, when the outer office door closed on her.
His wife was universally declared to be a very pretty woman, and she was even more "stylish," as women say, than pretty; for she had one of those light, graceful figures that give an air of beauty to everything they wear. For the rest, she had well-cut features, bright dark eyes, and a very winning smile.
He was adjusting eyeglasses to a narrow, well-cut nose; under a scanty mustache his mouth had fallen into pleasant lines, the nearsighted eyes, now regarding her normally from behind the glasses, seemed clear, unusually pleasant, even a trifle mischievous. "Is there anything I can do for you?" he asked respectfully.
Edging forward, George saw Beamish leaning on his counter, looking quietly self-possessed and very dapper in his white shirt and well-cut clothes. "Well," he said, "what do you ladies want with me?" Their leader faced him, a small and yet commanding figure, with an imperious expression and sparkling eyes. "You got a notice that from supper-time this bar must be shut!" "I did, ma'am.
The paraschites bowed his head at these words, and when he raised it the anger had vanished from his well-cut features. He rubbed his wrist, which had been squeezed by Pentaur's iron fingers, and said in a tone which betrayed all the bitterness of his feelings: "Thy hand is hard, Priest, and thy words hit like the strokes of a hammer.
"And this is May," was all Count Roumovski replied; then, for the first time since he had addressed her, he turned his eyes from her face, while the faintest smile played round his well-cut mouth. "A number of things can happen in four months.
Ruskin has light sand-coloured hair; his face is more red than pale; the mouth well-cut, with a good deal of decision in its curve, though somewhat wanting in sustained dignity and strength; an aquiline nose; his forehead by no means broad or massive, but the brows full and well bound together; the eye we could not see, in consequence of the shadows that fell upon his countenance from the lights overhead, but we are sure it must be soft and luminous, and that the poetry and passion we looked for almost in vain in other features must be concentrated there.
Indeed, had not the whole place been so threatening, I should have paused to laugh at this dusky scoundrel, whose white hat sat jauntily on the side of his woolly head, and whose well-cut black coat was ornamented with a great bunch of white flowers.
In this well-cut evening gown he saw that her figure was superb; and that she could command stateliness as well as vivacity moved her toward a pedestal in his regard that had been occupied by few and never for long. Rezanov, in his splendid uniform and blazing orders, filled the sala with his presence as he walked past the rows of bright critical eyes toward his hostesses.
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