Her stockings were mottled with patches and mends, and her shoes were old, and worn out at the toes.
But to Peter, worshipping her from his hiding place, she was the most beautiful thing in the world.

Jolly Roger had said the same thing, and most men--and women, too--would have agreed that this slip of a girl possessed a beauty which it would take a long time for unhappiness and torture to crush entirely out of her.

Her eyes were as blue as the violets Peter had thrust his nose among that day.

And her hair was a glory, loosed by her exertion from its bondage of faded ribbon, and falling about her shoulders and nearly to her waist in a mass of curling brown tresses that at times had made even Jed Hawkins' one eye light of with admiration.

And yet, even in those times, he hated her, and more than once his bony fingers had closed viciously in that mass of radiant hair, but seldom could he wring a scream of pain from Nada.