Two lines from THE WAY SOME PEOPLE DIE, a Ross Macdonald story that I recently blogged about, keep coming back to me:
His skin was fresh and boyish, but there was something the matter with his eyes. They were brown and wet and protuberant, as if they had been dipped in muddy water and stuck on his face to dry.
My two are from a western short (super rough) tentatively called Cash Laramie and the Masked Devil:
A horned figure with a dark crimson face and black flowing cape, theatrically waving a glimmering cutlass, barreled down on the trio of lawmen. Boland reached for his peacemaker.
The ladies at Women of Mystery can supply you with more Two Sentence Tuesday here.