“But my eyes—”
“They are a sort of dirty gray; but that would be nothing if you had not such an outrageous squint!”
“My complexion—”
“It looks as if you had rubbed coal-dust on your forehead and cheeks.”
“My mouth—”
“It is pale and withered, like a faded flower.”
“My teeth—”
“If the beauty of teeth is to be large and yellow, I never saw any so beautiful as yours.”
“But, at least, my ears—”
“They are so big, so red, and so misshapen, under your coarse elf-locks, that they are revolting. I am not pretty myself, but I should die of shame if mine were like them.” After this last blow, the old witch, having repeated what the queen had taught her, hobbled off, with a harsh croak of laughter, leaving poor Jacinta dissolved in tears, prone on the ground beneath the apple-trees.