unbrushed

My hair is unbrushed and these chips of wood stick in it.

Unbrushed teeth have food particles around them that promote bacteria and cause bad breath.

When he strolled across to him, the black, unbrushed head was lifted abruptly, as if in some surprise at his continued presence.

Flannel may be brushed to create extra softness or remain unbrushed.

Her hair was tangled and unbrushed and she was wearing old felt boots.

His thick white hair fell wild and unbrushed over his forehead like a floor mop.

As you start brushing, part the hair down to the skin and keep the unbrushed hair separate from the brushed coat.

Our client smoothed down his unbrushed hair and felt his unshaven chin.

The kitchen smelled of brewing coffee and the fumes of unbrushed teeth.

Described as six feet five inches tall with a kindly face and puffs of unbrushed white hair edging a bald head.

As an afterthought, she adds her toothbrush to the bundle: she does not like the feel of unbrushed teeth.

Michael, his red hair unbrushed as usual, was wearing faded jeans and a flowered Hawaiian sports shirt about three sizes too big for him.

And above her unbrushed, unbonneted head, strapped to the carriage roof in a rough pine coffin, there you are.

Deborah lay in bed, her colourful hair in an untidy unbrushed tangle all over the pillow.

Her hair was unbrushed and straggling, eyes red-rimmed, dark lines below them, her complexion deathly white.

She felt ridiculous and awkward in her flimsy tunic, with her hair damp and unbrushed.

This is theatrical history in raw state - unedited, unordered, unprocessed, uncombed and unbrushed, but made up of prime quality materials.

The room was redolent of illness: that stuffy, fusty smell of sweat and unbrushed teeth.

His eyes shone brightly, as if he were telling a joke as nasty as his unbrushed teeth.

It's odd how so many ex-New Yorkers who grew up unbrushed by nature are now rabid environmentalists in Los Angeles.

She looked bad, Annie noticed: hair unwashed and unbrushed, pale skin breaking out in spots, a general haze of stale sweat and fresh gin.

Her blonde hair looked unbrushed, and she was wearing a scruffy old T-shirt and a sarong skirt patterned with an hibiscus print.

Fiona obliged, conscious of her wind-burnt skin, her unbrushed hair, and that her fleece probably smelled of sweat.

Her hair was awry, matted and unbrushed, her jeans and blouse crumpled where she had lain on her bed in them.

His horsetail hair was unbrushed and stuck out wildly, and the side whiskers that were his pride and joy had not been combed.