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Page "Christo and Jeanne-Claude" ¶ 11
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Her and hair
Her blond hair was frowzy, her dress torn in several places, and her shoes were so completely worn out that they were practically no protection.
) Her Nicolas lay curled in the sun like a fawn, black hair falling over his eyes.
Her white blond hair was clean and brushed long straight down to her shoulders.
Her thick hair was the color and texture of charcoal.
Her clothes, her hair, everything about her is both graceful and simple.
Her hair was dyed, and her bloom was fading, and she must have been crowding forty, but she seemed to be one of those women who cling to the manners and graces of a pretty child of eight.
Her eyebrows were definite and heavy and formed two lines moving upward toward a high forehead and a great head of brown hair that fell to her shoulders.
Her uniform was of rich, raw silk, in a shade which matched her hair, skin, housepaint, and cats, and since she was so thin as to be almost shapeless, she rather resembled a frozen fish stick.
Her hair never seemed to be in place and her skirts were never quite the correct length.
Her coarse hair was two-colored -- bleached blonde and its real, dirty gray.
Her hair was the color of those blooms which in seed catalogues are referred to as `` black '', but since no flower is actually without color contain always a hint of grape or purple or blue -- he wanted to draw the broad patina of hair through his fingers, searching it slowly for a trace of veining which might reveal its true shade beneath the darkness.
Her hair was a very pretty light brown, and fell on her neck in graceful curls.
Her long, fine hair was dyed pale blonde, and her eyes, " brown as fir cones in autumn, scattered laughter ".
Her hair is then drawn on top as a long tube coming out of the sphere.
Her trademarks were her shawl and grey, frizzy hair.
Her hair is spread through all waters.
Her mother's friend Anna Vyrubova later wrote that Tatiana had a great talent for making clothing, embroidery and crochet and that she dressed her mother's long hair as well as any professional hair stylist.
Her hair was cropped short following an illness.
Her wavy hair was light brown in colour, and she had grey eyes and fair skin.
Her red hair was still on her skull and her shroud still wrapped around her.
Her hair changes style and color constantly, as do her clothes.
Her curly hair floated on the water, and lightning flashed from her black horn and her yellow horn.
In On Her Majesty's Secret Service ( 1963 ) Bond learns that Blofeld has radically altered his appearance — he is now tall and thin ; has reduced his weight to ; sports long silver hair, an infection on his nose, and no earlobes ; and wears dark green tinted contact lenses.

Her and was
Her face was very thin, and burned by the sun until much of the skin was dead and peeling, the new skin under it red and angry.
Her form was silhouetted and with the strong light I could see the outlines of her body, a body that an artist or anyone else would have admired.
Her mouth, which had been so much in my thoughts, was warm and moist and tender.
Her heart, her maternal feeling, in fact her being was too busy expressing itself, as quietly thrilled by this sight of her Nicolas curled asleep under a blanket, in a park like a scene from Poussin.
Her laugh was hard.
Her face was pale but set and her dark eyes smoldered with blame for Ben.
Her stern was down and a sharp list helped us to cut loose the lifeboat which dropped heavily into the water.
Her name was L'Turu and she told me many things.
( Her account was later confirmed by the Scobee-Frazier Expedition from the University of Manitoba in 1951.
Her mother was a good manager and established a millinery business in Milwaukee.
Her name was Esther Peter.
Her brother Karl was a very gentle soul, her mother was a quiet woman who said little but who had hard, probing eyes.
Her mother, now dead, was my good friend and when she came to tell us about her plans and to show off her ring I had a sobering wish to say something meaningful to her, something her mother would wish said.
Her action was involuntary.
Her name was Mollie.
Her speech was barren of southernisms ; ;
Her quarters were on the right as you walked into the building, and her small front room was clogged with heavy furniture -- a big, round, oak dining table and chairs, a buffet, with a row of unclaimed letters inserted between the mirror and its frame.
Her voice was ripe and full and her teeth flashed again in Sicilian brilliance before the warm curved lips met and her mouth settled in repose.

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