When he looked up at last, his face held a serious cast.

Her face always held that same look, as though she were about to tell a joke or laugh at one.

She didn't speak again, but her face held two words: I hope.

In the fading light the man's face held a look of concern.

She stood next to him, and her face held grief.

His face held such pain I didn't want to see it.

He did not speak and his face held no expression.

And his face held the mixed blood of that world.

He seemed a little embarrassed, his face held low and not meeting my eyes.

The woman didn't leave, though, and her face held a questioning look.