rictus

There is something of the rictus about that smile, always.

Each dead man's mouth was open in a screaming rictus.

His lips were pulled back in a rictus of pain.

It was fearful, his mouth working like a death rictus.

All Rictus could do was cover his head as the hail increased.

Even to those he greeted, it looked like a rictus of pain.

A smile took over my face and froze it in a rictus.

Down below, the diplomat's face was caught in a rictus of fear.

No breath came from between the lips pulled back in a rictus.

Not a happy smile, but a sort of gruesome rictus.

Rictus let out a cry of horror, but it was short.

He had to be alive, or his body would have stiffened with the death rictus.

His mouth was stretched wide in a rictus of fear, but no sound came.

Her teeth were clenched, almost in a rictus, yet she was still alive.

He pushed Rictus aside and started down the stairs two at a time.

He turned from the waters, and there in the rubble stood Rictus.

Her mouth was drawn back in the rictus normally associated with death.

It hurt his face, felt more like a rictus.

His face was set in a rictus of fear or killing-rage.

"Nothing much to say, I guess," he replied, and tried a smile that felt like a rictus.

Its thin black lips drew back into a fierce rictus.

He looked up at Randall and managed a rictus of a grin.

He managed to manufacture a grin that felt like a rictus.

Rictus said, and as he spoke the wind seemed to fill up his coat.

Perhaps he'd fallen asleep at the window, he thought, and Rictus had simply been a dream.