Then there was a man further along who had no eyes, and whose face was the color of a fly-blown
beefsteak, and wrinkled and twisted like a lava-flow--and verily so tumbled and distorted were his features that no man could tell the wart that served him for a nose from his cheek-bones.
Shrill flaring gas-jets, dulled and distorted in the fly-blown
mirrors that faced them, were ranged round the walls.
In my fly-blown
blankets I dreamt of London until I hankered after my chambers and my club more than after much fine gold.
Brown's"; and she confides the card to the gentleman of the Fine Art Repository, who consents to allow it to lie upon the counter, where it grows dingy and fly-blown
. Amelia passes the door wistfully many a time, in hopes that Mr.
IN response to your correspondent, Jim Hyland, I agree in essence with his frustration over uncollected bins and the sundry missed collections of these fly-blown
and disease-ridden stinking receptacles.
For Peter Warburton, meanwhile, there were 'fly-blown
camels whose sores had to be emptied in a pint pot.' McDouall Stuart became the first to trek from Darwin to Adelaide, and who never lost a man on his expeditions.
And the band's new five-track EP, entitled Black Eyes Sons sees them back to mining the same fly-blown
, gravel -throated charm that won them their legions of fans in the first place.
And the band's new five-track EP, entitled Black Eyed Sons sees them back to mining the same fly-blown
, gravel-throated charm that won them their legions of fans in the first place.
And, as a reward Lord Sugar treated them to a ride in the VIP capsule on the London Eye, while the fellas got the opportunity to take a long hard look at themselves in that grim fly-blown
roadside cafe where all the series' losers go to chew on their mistakes.
The nurse who handed the baby to me at a fly-blown
hospital in the coastal city of Mananjary tells me the child's mother lives in a village which is a a three-hour ride away on a bumpy speedboat down the Panagalanes canal.
The partition of the country, despite all the fly-blown
rhetoric since 1922, was still firmly in place.
In a fly-blown
wooden hut in the Pakistani coastal village of Rerhy, at the edge of the vast metropolis of Karachi, Hamida mourns her husband Nawaz, once a fisherman like those preparing their multicoloured boats on the nearby shore.