Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. Sheila was often a terror to her husband Mark, who seemed afraid of her. "Coward!" cried Kneebone. She creaked, groaned, and rattled; but that was only her way of yawning when she awoke. Her mouth was worthy of her face; with small, pearly-white teeth; lips glossy, rosy, and pouting; and the sweetest smile imaginable, playing constantly about them. She felt like a dried-up old woman. Through yet another doorway she observed an ancient silk brocade loom.
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