Adam’s legs were really long, causing him to resemble a preying mantis in glasses. His soul was kind and his voice was soft but low. His hair was the color of wheat, he wore it longer than one might expect of an accountant in the 1930’s. He didn’t like how women drew on their eyebrows and bowed their mouths with purplish black lipstick; he was smart enough to devise that such an application of cosmetics in such large amounts might look good in black and white 35 mm film, but in person it was disconcerting. Especially when little porcupine eyebrow hairs started to rebel, poking out underneath the precise black eyebrow lines. Adam thought women were startingly beautiful without the plaster of Paris they insisted on gobbing on their faces, shocking enough that such creatures walked, talked, danced, whispered.
Justine had natural eyebrows. She did wear a lot of Max Factor mascara, and her lips weren’t naturally the color of fresh blood, but her eyebrows were soft, natural, feathery. Like butterfly antennae.