The face which emerged was not reassuring. […]. He was not a mongol but there was a deficiency of a sort there, and it was not made more pretty by a latter-day hair cut which involved eccentrically long elf-locks and oiled black curls.

He found his way into home decorating, and there he discovered a small tower of black rubber pails. […] Satisfied—or as satisfied as a non-expert in bucketry could be—Faustino bought the thing.

Her deeply hennaed hair, almost black at the roots, straggled loosely down both sides of her long face.

We're such a small bump in the road that driving through Sylvester is like hitting an armadillo at 60 miles an hour, drawls local businessman David Register.