They were dreadful eyes to look at, such as would absolutely deter any man of quiet mind and easy spirit from attempting a passage of arms with such foes.

There was talent in them, and the fire of passion and the play of wit, but there was no love.

Cruelty was there instead, and courage, a desire of masterhood, cunning, and a wish for mischief.
And yet, as eyes, they were very beautiful.

The eyelashes were long and perfect, and the long, steady, unabashed gaze with which she would look into the face of her admirer fascinated while it frightened him.

She was a basilisk from whom an ardent lover of beauty could make no escape.