Their expression was so amiable, that it would have redeemed a countenance a thousand times plainer than hers. The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase. Even if you didn’t know it. The eyes, too, though large and bright, and shaded by long lashes, seemed to betoken, as hazel eyes generally do in men, a faithless and uncertain disposition. “I feared we might have a fog. Slowly Prudence Sindlesham nodded her head, her eyes never leaving his face. But he was now too deeply moved to trace a certain unsatisfactoriness to its source in a mixture of metaphors.
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