He looked just like John Wayne in a cowboy movie, his eyes narrow and squinting, except his hair was long, unruly, and jet black. The men have never had so much work to do since they banded. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. “It was,” she admitted. It is no good waiving the thing; it is true. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love.
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