He had a nice face, a sweet boy, sitting there doing his job, protecting us.
The face sits at an angle on a deep black ground.
Twelve faces, wrenched in anger, sat at opposite ends of the large table.
His face pinched in thought, he paced the room up and back, then sat in the chair.
On another sat a little old man with a wrinkled face, brown as a nutmeg, wearing a smock.
He knew she looked different now, but strangely the child's face still sat on a wonderfully imagined woman's body.
He knew that there would always be a friendly and caring face to sit and talk.
The face faded from the screen and Webster sat down heavily.
"Rachel..." Michael sat up and took her face between his hands.
A man's face, abstracted in wood, sits on the chair contemplating it all.