Long dark lashes and black curly hair - he had it all.
He pushed the hair from her neck and his lips sizzled a hot trail in its wake.
She lifted the hair off her neck and sighed as she paused in the shade of a huge oak tree.
He has big brown eyes and long golden hair and pretty round cheeks.
Walking so fast that it created a breeze that caught the loose hair hanging down her back, she turned her ankle slipping off her sandals.
A lock of mousy blonde hair covered her left eye.
Instead of braids, she brushed her hair into a ponytail.
Matthew had thick black hair, but Natalie's was blonde.
His face was clean shaven, but his dark curly hair was thick and unruly.
She felt the hair rising on the back of her neck.
As the Princess held the white piglet in her arms and stroked its soft hair she said: Let Eureka out of the cage, for she is no longer a prisoner, but our good friend.
Don't forget the mess of red hair and freckles.
"Well now, isn't she a fool!" shouted the prince, pushing the book aside and turning sharply away; but rising immediately, he paced up and down, lightly touched his daughter's hair and sat down again.
But I would like very much a blue hair-ribbon.
He was dressed plainly, and, with his reddish-brown hair and mud-bespattered face, looked like a hard- working countryman just in from the backwoods.
He looked to be about her age and his blond hair was neatly combed into a fashionable style.
Did he have reddish-brown hair, and did he ride a gray horse?
She combed Destiny's hair into pig tails, and then on impulse, did the same with hers.
He brushed a strand of hair from her face and stroked her cheek.
She will insist on having her hair put in curl papers when she is so sleepy she can scarcely stand.
The angry eldest princess, with the long waist and hair plastered down like a doll's, had come into Pierre's room after the funeral.
He ducked under the water and came up, wiping the water from his eyes and pushing his hair back.
Auburn hair - and you barely have enough freckles for anyone to notice.
To get her to do the simplest thing, such as combing her hair or washing her hands or buttoning her boots, it was necessary to use force, and, of course, a distressing scene followed.
With consummate skill he has set his trap with a hair spring to catch comfort and independence, and then, as he turned away, got his own leg into it.
Dolokhov was of medium height, with curly hair and light-blue eyes.
"Ah, madam, it is a great sacrament," replied the priest, passing his hand over the thin grizzled strands of hair combed back across his bald head.
The old prince always dressed in old-fashioned style, wearing an antique coat and powdered hair; and when Prince Andrew entered his father's dressing room (not with the contemptuous look and manner he wore in drawing rooms, but with the animated face with which he talked to Pierre), the old man was sitting on a large leather-covered chair, wrapped in a powdering mantle, entrusting his head to Tikhon.
Alex stroked her hair and spoke to her softly, encouraging her to close her eyes and relax.
When I saw you standing there in the road, so beautiful, your hair flowing around you like morning mist, I couldn't let you walk away.
Yeah, my nose is too big and my face is full of freckles, but my hair looks great.
Her hair was drawn back severely into a bun and she had black eyes that could render a lie detector machine obsolete.
Tucking a wayward strand of curly brown hair back into her bun, she replaced her hat and wrapped the lead lines around the wagon break.
She ripped the flower from her hair and slung it in the dust.
"Who is that man?" asked Gautama, "and why is his face so pinched and his hair so white?
After the play Miss Sullivan took me to see him behind the scenes, and I felt of his curious garb and his flowing hair and beard.
Her eyes are very big and blue, and her cheeks are soft and round and rosy and her hair is very bright and golden.
Nicholas was short with curly hair and an open expression.
"Demosthenes, I know thee by the pebble thou secretest in thy golden mouth!" said Bilibin, and the mop of hair on his head moved with satisfaction.
It was not the dress, but the face and whole figure of Princess Mary that was not pretty, but neither Mademoiselle Bourienne nor the little princess felt this; they still thought that if a blue ribbon were placed in the hair, the hair combed up, and the blue scarf arranged lower on the best maroon dress, and so on, all would be well.
On seeing the soldiers he was about to shout at them, but suddenly stopped and, clutching at his hair, burst into sobs and laughter:
Some of this dust was kneaded by the feet and wheels, while the rest rose and hung like a cloud over the troops, settling in eyes, ears, hair, and nostrils, and worst of all in the lungs of the men and beasts as they moved along that road.
Helene with an uneasy smile looked at his curly hair and his plump, clean-shaven, blackish cheeks and every moment expected the conversation to take a fresh turn.
"Did you what?" he asked, running fingers through his hair to straighten it.
Of course, Alex didn't have any gray hair yet, and his lips were fuller - more defined.
Her jet black hair was swept up gracefully into a plaited crown.
Her dark hair was pulled back severely from a narrow face.
His red shock of hair stood up like a flame as he glared down at her.
When I left the room, she was sweating until even her hair was wet.
Alex ran a hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck.
Even the way she wore her hair, with those braids wrapped around the top of her head like a crown and the long shiny blond curls falling around her shoulders and down her back – she wasn't simply beautiful.
She straightened her hair and collected her thoughts before opening the door.
Instinctively her fingers affirmed her hair was in order for the mug shot.
She collected a handful of the material in modest protest.
Refreshed from the inside out, she dressed and combed her hair with her fingers.
Giddon eyed her long hair thoughtfully, but said nothing.
A cool breeze lifted the damp hair at her temples and ruffled the hem of her full skirt.
She ran a comb through her hair, deciding not to re-braid the top part.
Part of her hair was still damp due to the volume.
A wisp of blond hair hung over one eye and Lisa brushed it back.
His long fingers traced her jaw to the hair on the back of her neck.
His piercing gaze lifted to her face and the hair rose on the back of her neck.
The hair on her head was thick.
He stood and whistled softly, his gaze taking in her dress and hair appreciatively.
A cold chill crept up her spine, raising the hair on the back of her neck.
Her arms stole around his neck and she ran trembling fingers through the soft hair on the back of his head.
She brushed the hair back over her shoulders.
She stroked his hair and kissed his forehead, while tears coursed down her cheeks as well.
The girl's hair was soft and fluffy and her skin as smooth as satin.
The tops of their heads had no hair, but were carved into a variety of fantastic shapes, some having a row of points or balls around the top, others designs resembling flowers or vegetables, and still others having squares that looked like waffles cut criss-cross on their heads.
The boys wore long hair and striped sweaters and yelled their college yell every other step they took, to the great satisfaction of the populace, which was glad to have this evidence that their lungs were in good condition.
One was black as ebony, with little bunches of fuzzy hair tied with shoestrings sticking out all over her head like corkscrews.
Except for my hands and hair I was not badly burned.
One cute little fellow stole her hair-ribbon, and another tried to snatch the flowers out of her hat.
Suddenly she jumped up onto a tub to be higher than he, embraced him so that both her slender bare arms clasped him above his neck, and, tossing back her hair, kissed him full on the lips.
He stroked her hair and then patted her awkwardly on the back of her neck.
He said nothing to her but looked at her forehead and hair, without looking at her eyes, with such contempt that the Frenchwoman blushed and went away without a word.
She did not comply with Lise's request, she not only left her hair as it was, but did not even look in her glass.
What could all that matter in comparison with the will of God, without Whose care not a hair of man's head can fall?
She only felt a soft hand taking hers firmly, and she touched with her lips a white forehead, over which was beautiful light- brown hair smelling of pomade.
You have done up your hair in this new way for the visitors, and before the visitors I tell you that in future you are never to dare to change your way of dress without my consent.
The first man that turns up--she forgets her father and everything else, runs upstairs and does up her hair and wags her tail and is unlike herself!
The door was opened a crack and there was a glimpse of something blue, of ribbons, black hair, and merry faces.
Pierre, who at his wife's command had let his hair grow and abandoned his spectacles, went about the rooms fashionably dressed but looking sad and dull.
Evidently just before coming to the dinner he had had his hair and whiskers trimmed, which changed his appearance for the worse.
Strands of her black hair lay round her inflamed and perspiring cheeks, her charming rosy mouth with its downy lip was open and she was smiling joyfully.
He looked up joyfully at the baby when the nurse brought it to him and nodded approval when she told him that the wax with the baby's hair had not sunk in the font but had floated.
That evening, proud of Dolokhov's proposal, her refusal, and her explanation with Nicholas, Sonya twirled about before she left home so that the maid could hardly get her hair plaited, and she was transparently radiant with impulsive joy.
Denisov, with sparkling eyes and ruffled hair, sat at the clavichord striking chords with his short fingers, his legs thrown back and his eyes rolling as he sang, with his small, husky, but true voice, some verses called "Enchantress," which he had composed, and to which he was trying to fit music:
With a pair of felt boots on his thin bony legs, and keeping on a worn, nankeen-covered, sheepskin coat, the traveler sat down on the sofa, leaned back his big head with its broad temples and close-cropped hair, and looked at Bezukhov.
Prince Andrew touched the head with his hand; even the hair was wet, so profusely had the child perspired.
Prince Andrew was the first to move away, ruffling his hair against the muslin of the curtain.
In her snug room, with lamps burning before the icon stand, a young lad with a long nose and long hair, wearing a monk's cassock, sat on the sofa beside her, behind a samovar.
"Is he tall and with reddish hair?" asked the doctor.
Ahead of the rest and nearer to him ran a dark- haired, remarkably slim, pretty girl in a yellow chintz dress, with a white handkerchief on her head from under which loose locks of hair escaped.
Then he would turn away to the portrait of his dead Lise, who with hair curled a la grecque looked tenderly and gaily at him out of the gilt frame.
I looked at him, still holding him in my arms, and saw that his face was young, but that he had no hair on his head and his features were quite changed.
Boris' uniform, spurs, tie, and the way his hair was brushed were all comme il faut and in the latest fashion.
One night when the old countess, in nightcap and dressing jacket, without her false curls, and with her poor little knob of hair showing under her white cotton cap, knelt sighing and groaning on a rug and bowing to the ground in prayer, her door creaked and Natasha, also in a dressing jacket with slippers on her bare feet and her hair in curlpapers, ran in.
The countess was to wear a claret-colored velvet dress, and the two girls white gauze over pink silk slips, with roses on their bodices and their hair dressed a la grecque.
"That's not the way, that's not the way, Sonya!" cried Natasha turning her head and clutching with both hands at her hair which the maid who was dressing it had not time to release.
When her hair was done, Natasha, in her short petticoat from under which her dancing shoes showed, and in her mother's dressing jacket, ran up to Sonya, scrutinized her, and then ran to her mother.
Turning her mother's head this way and that, she fastened on the cap and, hurriedly kissing her gray hair, ran back to the maids who were turning up the hem of her skirt.
He was wearing a blue swallow-tail coat, shoes and stockings, and was perfumed and his hair pomaded.
The two girls in their white dresses, each with a rose in her black hair, both curtsied in the same way, but the hostess' eye involuntarily rested longer on the slim Natasha.
That gray-haired man, she said, indicating an old man with a profusion of silver-gray curly hair, who was surrounded by ladies laughing at something he said.
But just as Daniel was about to go Natasha came in with rapid steps, not having done up her hair or finished dressing and with her old nurse's big shawl wrapped round her.
On its long back sat Daniel, hunched forward, capless, his disheveled gray hair hanging over his flushed, perspiring face.
Karay finished scratching his hindquarters and, cocking his ears, got up with quivering tail from which tufts of matted hair hung down.
Thanks to the delay caused by this crossing of the wolf's path, the old dog with its felted hair hanging from its thigh was within five paces of it.
That instant, when Nicholas saw the wolf struggling in the gully with the dogs, while from under them could be seen her gray hair and outstretched hind leg and her frightened choking head, with her ears laid back (Karay was pinning her by the throat), was the happiest moment of his life.
He was in a woman's dress, with tousled hair and a happy smile new to Sonya.
Sometimes he consoled himself with the thought that he was only living this life temporarily; but then he was shocked by the thought of how many, like himself, had entered that life and that club temporarily, with all their teeth and hair, and had only left it when not a single tooth or hair remained.
At supper after the opera he described to Dolokhov with the air of a connoisseur the attractions of her arms, shoulders, feet, and hair and expressed his intention of making love to her.
"Go to the devil!" cried Anatole and, clutching his hair, left the room, but returned at once and dropped into an armchair in front of Dolokhov with his feet turned under him.
His face was fresh and rosy, his white-plumed hat, tilted to one side, disclosed his curled and pomaded hair besprinkled with powdery snow.
In front of the group, on a black horse with trappings that glittered in the sun, rode a tall man with plumes in his hat and black hair curling down to his shoulders.
On seeing the Russian general he threw back his head, with its long hair curling to his shoulders, in a majestically royal manner, and looked inquiringly at the French colonel.
His short hair had evidently just been brushed, but one lock hung down in the middle of his broad forehead.
He had grown, become rosier, had curly dark hair, and, when merry and laughing, quite unconsciously lifted the upper lip of his pretty little mouth just as the little princess used to do.
The unbrushed tufts of hair sticking up behind and the hastily brushed hair on his temples expressed this most eloquently.
And despite his self-confidence and grumpy German sarcasm he was pitiable, with his hair smoothly brushed on the temples and sticking up in tufts behind.
The priest came out with his purple velvet biretta on his head, adjusted his hair, and knelt down with an effort.
That morning Petya was a long time dressing and arranging his hair and collar to look like a grown-up man.
When he came to himself, a man of clerical appearance with a tuft of gray hair at the back of his head and wearing a shabby blue cassock--probably a church clerk and chanter--was holding him under the arm with one hand while warding off the pressure of the crowd with the other.
The handsome boy adjutant with the long hair sighed deeply without removing his hand from his hat and galloped back to where men were being slaughtered.
Natasha, throwing a clean pocket handkerchief over her hair and holding an end of it in each hand, went out into the street.
"I won't!" cried Natasha, with one hand holding back the hair that hung over her perspiring face, while with the other she pressed down the carpets.
We have recognized you, he now seemed to hear the words she had uttered and to see before him her eyes, her smile, her traveling hood, and a stray lock of her hair... and there seemed to him something pathetic and touching in all this.
The woman's husband, a short, round- shouldered man in the undress uniform of a civilian official, with sausage-shaped whiskers and showing under his square-set cap the hair smoothly brushed forward over his temples, with expressionless face was moving the trunks, which were placed one on another, and was dragging some garments from under them.
But his brilliantly white, strong teeth which showed in two unbroken semicircles when he laughed--as he often did--were all sound and good, there was not a gray hair in his beard or on his head, and his whole body gave an impression of suppleness and especially of firmness and endurance.
A beard and mustache covered the lower part of his face, and a tangle of hair, infested with lice, curled round his head like a cap.
Then he took off his nightcap, combed his hair over his temples, and donned his cap.
To that question, "What for?" a simple answer was now always ready in his soul: "Because there is a God, that God without whose will not one hair falls from a man's head."
With a short coat and his hair cropped; just as if, well, just as if he had come straight from the bath...
After Pierre's departure that first evening, when Natasha had said to Princess Mary with a gaily mocking smile: "He looks just, yes, just as if he had come out of a Russian bath--in a short coat and with his hair cropped," something hidden and unknown to herself, but irrepressible, awoke in Natasha's soul.
And smoothing his hair he began to pace the room.
To such an extent had Natasha let herself go that the way she dressed and did her hair, her ill-chosen words, and her jealousy--she was jealous of Sonya, of the governess, and of every woman, pretty or plain- -were habitual subjects of jest to those about her.
Young Nicholas, now a slim lad of fifteen, delicate and intelligent, with curly light-brown hair and beautiful eyes, was delighted because Uncle Pierre as he called him was the object of his rapturous and passionate affection.
At tea all sat in their accustomed places: Nicholas beside the stove at a small table where his tea was handed to him; Milka, the old gray borzoi bitch (daughter of the first Milka), with a quite gray face and large black eyes that seemed more prominent than ever, lay on the armchair beside him; Denisov, whose curly hair, mustache, and whiskers had turned half gray, sat beside countess Mary with his general's tunic unbuttoned; Pierre sat between his wife and the old countess.
The golden brown skin and black hair reminded her of the conversation at Thanksgiving.
Her dark shining hair was pulled back loosely with bejeweled combs and hung in loose curls down her back.
"Now I will fix your hair," Felipa said.
A cold wind tore at her hair as she stomped across the courtyard and out to the chicken coup.
She woke several times briefly; once to see Len and an older officer with white hair talking in the hallway outside her cubicle in the emergency room.
Dad had passed on his curly blond hair to Nick and Lisa.
She dressed hurriedly in the clothes Sarah had loaned her and ran fingers through her hair, wishing she had a comb.
Unbraiding her hair she brushed it.
He ran a hand through his hair and clamped his hat on his head.
Under the hat, her hair was filthy and matted.
She pulled the pins from her hair and scrubbed it and then wiped the rivulets of water from her face.
"Yes," she answered, looking gravely at his tousled hair and blinking gray eyes.
Then she looked at Zeb, whose face was blue and whose hair was pink, and gave a little laugh that sounded a bit nervous.
He was a very old man, bent nearly double; but the queerest thing about him was his white hair and beard.
I told her that her hair was brown, and she asked, "Is brown very pretty?"
Prince Andrew came up, stroked her hair, and asked if she felt rested after their journey.
Karay, his hair bristling, and probably bruised or wounded, climbed with difficulty out of the gully.
At first she heard only Metivier's voice, then her father's, then both voices began speaking at the same time, the door was flung open, and on the threshold appeared the handsome figure of the terrified Metivier with his shock of black hair, and the prince in his dressing gown and fez, his face distorted with fury and the pupils of his eyes rolled downwards.
"Natasha, your hair!..." whispered Sonya.
In the front, in the very center, leaning back against the orchestra rail, stood Dolokhov in a Persian dress, his curly hair brushed up into a huge shock.
A tall, beautiful woman with a mass of plaited hair and much exposed plump white shoulders and neck, round which she wore a double string of large pearls, entered the adjoining box rustling her heavy silk dress and took a long time settling into her place.
Ferapontov came out after her, but on seeing Alpatych adjusted his waistcoat, smoothed his hair, yawned, and followed Alpatych into the opposite room.
Dron was one of those physically and mentally vigorous peasants who grow big beards as soon as they are of age and go on unchanged till they are sixty or seventy, without a gray hair or the loss of a tooth, as straight and strong at sixty as at thirty.
Unconsciously she sat up, smoothed her hair, got up, and went to the window, involuntarily inhaling the freshness of the clear but windy evening.
The hot rays of the sun beat down vertically and a fresh soft wind played with the hair of the bared heads and with the ribbons decorating the icon.
Napoleon's short hair was wet and matted on the forehead, but his face, though puffy and yellow, expressed physical satisfaction.
His curly hair, its color, and the shape of his head seemed strangely familiar to Prince Andrew.
Raevski, twitching forward the black hair on his temples as was his habit, glanced now at Kutuzov and now at the door with a look of impatience.
This morning I took a bath, and when teacher came upstairs to comb my hair she told me some very sad news which made me unhappy all day.
She rose and smoothed her hair, which was as usual so extremely smooth that it seemed to be made of one piece with her head and covered with varnish.
Her hair sparkled in the sunlight against the dark tan of his hand.
Laughing softly at the matching shadows of her hair and skirt, she imagined it was a Christmas tree.
I got up, washed my face and hands, combed my hair, picked three dew violets for Teacher and ate my breakfast.
The beautiful creature passed her hands over her eyes an instant, tucked in a stray lock of hair that had become disarranged, and after a look around the garden made those present a gracious bow and said, in a sweet but even toned voice:
Signs were hung out on all sides to allure him; some to catch him by the appetite, as the tavern and victualling cellar; some by the fancy, as the dry goods store and the jeweller's; and others by the hair or the feet or the skirts, as the barber, the shoemaker, or the tailor.
When I left the room, she was sweating until even her hair was wet.
Felipa pulled the hair up and used combs with amethyst jewels on them, giving the impression of long hair.
One of the next arrivals was a stout, heavily built young man with close-cropped hair, spectacles, the light-colored breeches fashionable at that time, a very high ruffle, and a brown dress coat.