His hair is oddly streaked with gray —I might say a dishonourable gray. Here and there, patches of flesh adhered to the bones, and the dank dripping hair hanging about what had once been the face, gave it a ghastly appearance. ‘She hasn’t said so, but I presume Valade had got hold of all the useful papers,’ Gerald went on. In the retrospect she was amazed to think how things had gone to pieces, for at the outset she had been quite prepared to go home again upon terms. She could smell the sweet girl child he had buried in the garage in autumn, 1 even under the frozen ground. With his black and gray hair, his gray-green eyes were a striking contrast and he looked even younger, as if he had been frozen at age thirty-three.
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