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The carroty man had the blond off his back now.
The carroty man took his time making up his mind.
The carroty man went softly out of the door.
The carroty man's left foot didn't wait to be stamped on.
The carroty man withdrew the key and bared his teeth at me.
It was sufficiently horrific to allow her to forget all about the man who didn't like carroty hair.
The carroty man selected one of his keys and put it in the lock of Apartment 204.
The carroty man's right hand made a sweeping movement and came up with a woven leather blackjack.
The carroty man staggered and swore and waved his gun around.
She looked very young, carroty lashes lying on her cheeks, her mouth slightly open.
I handed the carroty man the card.
The carroty head turned vaguely.
His carroty topknot was whipped back by the wind of the herd's passage, and a huge smile lit his pale eyes.
My dear Staff Nurse, I don't like carroty hair."
The carroty man said: "You heard me, Mr. Hench.
The carroty man hit him on the top of his head and the girl screamed again and threw a glass of liquor in her boy friend's face.
Now, you must know that Peter was her eldest son, whom she loved above all the rest, because he was somewhat carroty, as she herself was.
They sprang down and lifted him to a less awkward position, and Big Medicine pillowed the sweat-dampened, carroty head in the hollow of his arm.
Strangely, she didn't fancy the idea, until she remembered how he had said, very plainly indeed, that he didn't like carroty hair.
He was a red-faced young man with thin, carroty hair and a sniff was his usual conversational embellishment, at least with juniors.
The carroty man stood up suddenly and spread his feet apart and dusted his hands together and took hold of his lower lip with his teeth.
The same grey eyes, the same ample, but decisive mouth, which had recently seemed to me to belie her character, the same shock of auburn, faintly carroty hair.
I relieved the carroty man of the gun that was not doing him any good and stepped around him, leaving him to shake the blond off his back as best he could.
He wrote the poem, sometimes considered by critics as the most celebrated of British anti-war poems, while living at Westbury with his mother and his cousin (Peggy) in a renovated ale-house, which he shared also with a "great carroty cat".
Annette O'Leary had been an inch or two taller than the girl sitting on the bed, and her hair had been a different, more natural, more carroty color, but a man waiting for a slim small redhead to enter a certain building wouldn't have been making such fine distinctions.
