1 The eyes were very dark blue and steady.
2 The upper part of the hall was now completely dark.
3 It was a dark rainy evening and there was no sound in the house.
4 Many times she allowed the dark to fall upon them, refraining from lighting the lamp.
5 In the dark of my room I imagined that I saw again the heavy grey face of the paralytic.
6 The dark discreet room, their isolation, the music that still vibrated in their ears united them.
7 Farrington's dark wine-coloured face flushed darker still with anger and humiliation at having been defeated by such a stripling.
8 He knew that he would regret in the morning but at present he was glad of the rest, glad of the dark stupor that would cover up his folly.
9 Their cries reached me weakened and indistinct and, leaning my forehead against the cool glass, I looked over at the dark house where she lived.
10 He had a hanging face, dark wine-coloured, with fair eyebrows and moustache: his eyes bulged forward slightly and the whites of them were dirty.
11 The dark damp night was coming and he longed to spend it in the bars, drinking with his friends amid the glare of gas and the clatter of glasses.
12 He turned to the left when he came to the corner of Rutland Square and felt more at ease in the dark quiet street, the sombre look of which suited his mood.
13 Had he not been dead I would have gone into the little dark room behind the shop to find him sitting in his arm-chair by the fire, nearly smothered in his great-coat.
14 She remembered the last night of her mother's illness; she was again in the close dark room at the other side of the hall and outside she heard a melancholy air of Italy.
15 In his imagination he beheld the pair of lovers walking along some dark road; he heard Corley's voice in deep energetic gallantries and saw again the leer of the young woman's mouth.
16 Farrington gazed admiringly at the plump arm which she moved very often and with much grace; and when, after a little time, she answered his gaze he admired still more her large dark brown eyes.
17 The career of our play brought us through the dark muddy lanes behind the houses where we ran the gauntlet of the rough tribes from the cottages, to the back doors of the dark dripping gardens where odours arose from the ashpits, to the dark odorous stables where a coachman smoothed and combed the horse or shook music from the buckled harness.
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