The woman was a blowsy
creature of middle age, who had had a long succession of still-born children.
The "bit of womanhood" was our old acquaintance Bessy Cranage, otherwise Chad's Bess, whose large red cheeks and blowsy
person had undergone an exaggeration of colour, which, if she had happened to be a heavenly body, would have made her sublime.
Others had made the same attempt, and there was a household of Blenkers--an intense and voluble mother, and three blowsy
daughters who imitated her--where one met Edwin Booth and Patti and William Winter, and the new Shakespearian actor George Rignold, and some of the magazine editors and musical and literary critics.
The anxiety about sister Priscilla, which had grown rather active by the time the coral necklace was clasped, was happily ended by the entrance of that cheerful-looking lady herself, with a face made blowsy
by cold and damp.
All look good in bud, full bloom and even as the blowsy
blooms fall apart.
The sweeping nature of the themes are signalled on Deja Vu, where personal vanity combines with images of "bankers getting fat" and "hermaphrodite trout" in poisoned water, and The Last Refugee sees Waters tapping into the zeitgeist with familiar blowsy
Go for big, blowsy
, 'painterly' style florals and don't be afraid to mix and match prints, patterns and styles.
Go for big, blowsy
"painterly" style florals and don't be afraid to mix and match prints, patterns and styles.
Despite a curate's egg of a winter, in which a record-breaking one metre of rain fell but temperatures rarely dipped below freezing, Dr Dine Dines is confident of a blowsy
new arrival in the Conwy landscape this summer.
Actress Nancy Sullivan stars as LV, a painfully shy girl with a bold and beautiful voice, whose blowsy
mother Mari, played by Vicky Entwistle, shrieks and shouts her way around the house, all-thewhile Chris Gascoyne's Ray Say engineers his escape from small town showbiz to the bright lights of the big-time.
My Carmen, see, makes your Clodia seem blowsy
, a diluted wine, a dull receptacle for perfumed, sheet-wrapped goatherds.
There are no graceful dance steps for these calloused proletarians and their blowsy
women, just a lot of boot-stomping and thigh-slapping to indicate how inarticulate these poor souls are at expressing their emotions.