"Brownish" Quotes from Famous Books
 ... of ailment he was attended by the old doctor of the Bastille, who, while often examining his tongue and parts of his body, never saw his face. He represents him as very finely shaped, and of somewhat brownish complexion, with an agreeable and engaging voice. He never complained, nor gave any hint as to who he was, and throughout his whole prison life no one gained the least clue to his identity. The only instance in which he attempted to make himself known is described ...
— Historical Tales, Vol. 6 (of 15) - The Romance of Reality. French. • Charles Morris
... to stay on the vines the green beans inside the pods would get hard and ripe, some turning white like the beans which boys and girls stuff into cloth bags to play games with, and other beans turning a sort of brownish red, ...
— Daddy Takes Us to the Garden - The Daddy Series for Little Folks • Howard R. Garis
... satisfy the good woman of the excellence of her cause, for she shook her head several times. She heard a long sigh, and ran to Jane's bed. The girl's face looked like wax, her eyelids had a brownish tinge. Her lips were parted with the sigh that her nurse ...
— The Son of Monte Cristo • Jules Lermina
... intention. The number of arches in each tier is dif- ferent; they are smaller and more numerous as they ascend. The preservation of the thing is extra- ordinary; nothing has crumbled or collapsed; every feature remains; and the huge blocks of stone, of a brownish-yellow, (as if they had been baked by the Provencal sun for eighteen centuries), pile themselves, without mortar or cement, as evenly as the day they were laid together. All this to carry the water of a couple of springs to a little provincial city! The con- duit on the top has retained its shape ...
— A Little Tour in France • Henry James
... history of Silas Marner, until the fifteenth year after he came to Raveloe. The livelong day he sat in his loom, his ear filled with its monotony, his eyes bent close down on the slow growth of sameness in the brownish web, his muscles moving with such even repetition that their pause seemed almost as much a constraint as the holding of his breath. But at night came his revelry: at night he closed his shutters, and made fast his doors, and drew forth his gold. Long ago ...
— Silas Marner - The Weaver of Raveloe • George Eliot
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