1 Daisy's face, tipped sideways beneath a three-cornered lavender hat, looked out at me with a bright ecstatic smile.
2 It was dark here in front: only the bright door sent ten square feet of light volleying out into the soft black morning.
3 Blinking away the brightness of the street outside my eyes picked him out obscurely in the anteroom, talking to another man.
4 When he came down the steps at last the tanned skin was drawn unusually tight on his face, and his eyes were bright and tired.
5 I looked at the house: there were two or three bright windows downstairs and the pink glow from Daisy's room on the second floor.
6 We walked through a high hallway into a bright rosy-colored space, fragilely bound into the house by French windows at either end.
7 It was strange to reach the marble steps and find no stir of bright dresses in and out the door, and hear no sound but bird voices in the trees.
8 He had thrown himself into it with a creative passion, adding to it all the time, decking it out with every bright feather that drifted his way.
9 His gorgeous pink rag of a suit made a bright spot of color against the white steps and I thought of the night when I first came to his ancestral home three months before.
10 Her porch was bright with the bought luxury of star-shine; the wicker of the settee squeaked fashionably as she turned toward him and he kissed her curious and lovely mouth.
11 The wind had blown off, leaving a loud bright night with wings beating in the trees and a persistent organ sound as the full bellows of the earth blew the frogs full of life.
12 The lamp-light, bright on his boots and dull on the autumn-leaf yellow of her hair, glinted along the paper as she turned a page with a flutter of slender muscles in her arms.
13 It was a rich cream color, bright with nickel, swollen here and there in its monstrous length with triumphant hatboxes and supper-boxes and tool-boxes, and terraced with a labyrinth of windshields that mirrored a dozen suns.
14 The lawn started at the beach and ran toward the front door for a quarter of a mile, jumping over sun-dials and brick walks and burning gardens--finally when it reached the house drifting up the side in bright vines as though from the momentum of its run.
15 Her face was sad and lovely with bright things in it, bright eyes and a bright passionate mouth--but there was an excitement in her voice that men who had cared for her found difficult to forget: a singing compulsion, a whispered "Listen," a promise that she had done gay, exciting things just a while since and that there were gay, exciting things hovering in the next hour.