Chapter

 1 1 |     yellow in his hide, without a hair in his tail, but not without
 2 3 |           Of complexion and brown hair?" ~"Yes, yes, that is he;
 3 8 |        very lofty carriage, black hair, swarthy complexion, piercing
 4 8 |            dark complexion, black hair, and haughty carriage--why,
 5 10|       twenty-six years, with dark hair, blue eyes, and a nose slightly
 6 10|      forty-five years, with black hair, a dark complexion, and
 7 12|      undulations to his beautiful hair, which the weight of his
 8 12|        incomparable. ~Lastly, her hair, which, from being light
 9 12|        toward you, your beautiful hair touch my cheek; and every
10 14|        thirty-seven years of age, hair, mustaches, and royal, all
11 24|          foot to the roots of his hair, to find that this soft
12 28|        anger began to take by the hair, as Minerva takes Achilles,
13 31|          the most beautiful light hair imaginable!" ~"Ah, my poor
14 32|      shaded by a forest of virgin hair, opened the door, and bowed
15 38|          would give my life for a hair," said Athos. "Fortunately,
16 45|           of your finger a single hair of d'Artagnan, who is a
17 45|           dark tapestry, with her hair in disorder, she appeared
18 48|        from time to time pulled a hair or two from his mustache,
19 49|     scarcely shaded by short thin hair which, like the beard which
20 52|          seducing smile. Then her hair assumed successively, under
21 52|        thrown back, her beautiful hair unbound and disheveled,
22 52|         laughing, "that beautiful hair so skillfully disheveled,
23 53|          plain arrangement of the hair, by that costume of extreme
24 55|         her throat uncovered, her hair disheveled, holding with
25 59|           Lord de Winter tore his hair. ~"Too late by a minute!"
26 61|          a young woman with light hair and delicate complexion,
27 63|    standing before the table, his hair rising from his head, his
28 64|        pale complexion, and black hair and beard. ~Athos and he
29 65|    whistled in the plumes and the hair of the horsemen. ~The cavalcade
30 65|         suffocated by terror, her hair loosening itself, and rising
31 65|           face, framed with black hair and whiskers, the only expression
32 65| implacable hand seized her by the hair, and dragged her away as
33 66|         that he who shall touch a hair of my head is himself an