The woman across from me, dressed in a red blouse and dark slacks, seemed a little nervous.

In the afternoon sunlight, her hair shone brightly above a red blouse.

My hair was made to order for the outfit, black curling just over the shoulders of the red blouse.

A woman in a red blouse was crumpled at the end of the hall.

I'm glad I was wearing my mother's red blouse.

She was wearing a red blouse and a violet neckerchief.

She wore a short denim skirt and an old red blouse beneath.

Her costume was simple: a long black skirt and a red blouse.

No sign of the red blouse and the red skirt.

I found a few dark spots of blood on the red blouse.