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It was a face that had lost its childlike softness and was beginning to fold within its fragile features a harshness that belied the lyric lines of its contours.
from
Brown Corpus
Some Related Sentences
was and face
Her face was very thin, and burned by the sun until much of the skin was dead and peeling, the new skin under it red and angry.
Gavin's face was bloodless with excitement.
His face was split by a vermilion streak, his eyes were pools of white ; ;
The man was tall, thin, with a narrow face and a too-large nose.
His face was clouded with unhappiness.
His face was stiff with anger when they let go of his arms.
Then, with a glory that almost wiped out the deep, downward sags in her careworn face, Matilda leaned over the wheel and shouted to Hez, who was stumbling along in the heat and the dust on the opposite side of the wagon `` Pa!!
Setting a course straight for the house, he was covering ground fast when an angry bee buzzed past close to his face.
His face was dark as the sky above it as he stood on the wing and waited for his pilot.
The car was just about to us, its driver's fat, solemn face intent on the road ahead, on business, on a family in Sante Fe -- on anything but an old pick-up truck in which two human beings desperately needed rescue.
It was a disturbingly familiar face, too, but I couldn't remember where we had met.
There was something about the contour of her face, her smile that was like New Orleans sunshine, the way she held her head, the way she walked -- there was scarcely anything she did which did not fascinate me.
He was looking out on the dark waters of the Lake when I came upon him and without wasting words I smacked him hard across the face.
Her face was pale but set and her dark eyes smoldered with blame for Ben.
This was also a corpse -- a male, judging from the coral arm bands, the tribal scars still discernible on the maggoty face, the painted bone of the warrior caste which still pierced the septum of the rotting nose.
My last impression as they led him off to a stockade was of his pale face
There was nothing in particular on the man's face.
Then she saw Ramey and her face was misshapen with bewilderment.
Some of the ruddiness was gone from his face and he stared at Ramey.
And so when Miss Langford came to teach at the one-room Chestnut school, where Jack was a pupil in the eighth grade, the Woman of Jack's mind assumed the teacher's face and figure.
Kitty screamed insanely and her face was white.
There was something about his face that disturbed me and it took several seconds to realize what.
was and had
Any lingering suspicion that this was a trick Al Budd had thought up was dispelled.
Both had blonde hair and blue eyes, and there was even a faint similarity of features.
There was more to this than Jones had told him.
He was thinking of Rittenhouse and how he had left him there, to rock to death on the porch of the Splendide.
The silence oppressed him, made him bend low over the horse's neck as if to hide from a wind that had begun to blow far away and was twisting slowly through the darkness in its slow search.
It was the night Clayton had tricked them in the poker game.
He knew who was riding after him -- the men he had known all his life, the men who had worked for him, sworn their loyalty to him.
The land over which he sped was the land he had created and lived in: his valley.
The Gap looming before him -- the place where had confronted Jack English on that day so many years ago -- was his exit from all that had meaning to him.
He was thinking that the way she had responded to his own kiss hadn't meant what he had believed it had.
He might tell her how sorry a spectacle she was making of herself, pretending to be blind to the way Julia Fortune had taken Dean's affections from her.
His looting of the orderly room had taken only a minute or two and the vicinity was still clear of guerrillas.
At the same moment Wheeler Fiske fired the rifle Mike had given him and another guerrilla was hit.
The bullet had torn through the flesh just above the knee, inflicting an ugly gash that was forming a pool of blood on the floor.
In the brief moment I had to talk to them before I took my post on the ring of defenses, I indicated I was sickened by the methods men employed to live and trade on the river.
Next to him was a young boy I was sure had sat near me at one of the trading sessions.
The war captain had been badly wounded and was fighting to hold his seat.
She said, and her tone had softened until it was almost friendly.
She had picked up the quirt and was twirling it around her wrist and smiling at him.
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