Michelle’s eyes darted around, she refused to look straight at Lucy. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. Only a book detective could dope this out. F. David Courtlaw. "I'm going back for Ruth. With me behaving as if everything was infinitely matter-of-fact, what could he do? And just then Heaven sent old Manningtree—I didn’t tell you before of the fortunate intervention of Manningtree, did I? He was looking quite infernally distinguished, with a wide crimson ribbon across him—what IS a wide crimson ribbon? Some sort of knight, I suppose.
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