Physically, they were a superb couple, but in raiment they resembled scarecrows.

Both, of course, were bare-headed.

The sailor's jersey and trousers were old and torn, and the sea-water still soughed loudly in his heavy boots with each step.
But Iris was in a deplorable plight.

Her hair fell in a great wave of golden brown strands over her neck and shoulders.

Every hairpin had vanished, but with a few dexterous twists she coiled the flying tresses into a loose knot.