She made a face at him.
His gaze wandered over her face, coming back to her eyes.
She turned her face away from him.
Her gaze left his face as she considered the idea.
His face was white, but very homely.
We all know the stories of people who win the lottery—and let's face it, far too often no good comes of it.
His face was still pale.
Carmen looked up at his face and found it as stern as his voice.
His solemn gaze roved over her face.
Her face was burning.
She stared up at his face, but he ignored her.
His face looked pale and he rode with an alien stiffness.
Her face flamed as she thought of how it must have looked to Morino.
His face was flushed and his eyes were bright.
He was not a very large man, but was well formed and had a beautiful face--calm and serene as the face of a fine portrait.
Let's face it: Futurists as a whole have a pretty poor track record.
She glanced up at his face, but it gave no clue of his mood.
His attitude toward her did an about face so obvious that even Jonathan noticed.
A flush crawled up his neck, across his face and hid behind flashing dark eyes.
It's enough to have your pedigree flung in your face by those saucy dragonettes.
He covered his face and wept.
The boy's face beamed with delight.
His face is white, and he seems very weak.
There, too, after a fit of temper, I went to find comfort and to hide my hot face in the cool leaves and grass.
The expression on Felipa's face reflected both humor and interest.
"We belong upon the face of the earth," explained the Wizard, "but recently, during an earthquake, we fell down a crack and landed in the Country of the Mangaboos."
Standing before the mirror, as I had seen others do, I anointed mine head with oil and covered my face thickly with powder.
"Before," she said, knowing her face must be red.
"And mama can't tell whether my face is dirty or not!" added the other childish voice, gleefully.
"But I make you wash it, every time I think of it," said the mother; "for it stands to reason your face is dirty, Ianu, whether I can see it or not."
We have time, just now, and I'd rather face the invis'ble bears than those wooden imps.
Then she saw that the child's face was very pale and that he neither opened his eyes nor moved.
Seeing Cary Grant smiling at her, she asserts she will wipe the smile off his face by accelerating to eighty miles per hour—and then does.
Second, in addition to facts, the web has become the face of almost all organizations of the planet.
Oh, the delight with which I gathered up the fruit in my pinafore, pressed my face against the smooth cheeks of the apples, still warm from the sun, and skipped back to the house!
Miss Fuller's method was this: she passed my hand lightly over her face, and let me feel the position of her tongue and lips when she made a sound.
In reading my teacher's lips I was wholly dependent on my fingers: I had to use the sense of touch in catching the vibrations of the throat, the movements of the mouth and the expression of the face; and often this sense was at fault.
The thought of going to college took root in my heart and became an earnest desire, which impelled me to enter into competition for a degree with seeing and hearing girls, in the face of the strong opposition of many true and wise friends.
There one does not meet the great and the wise face to face; one does not even feel their living touch.
In my fancy the pagan gods and goddesses still walked on earth and talked face to face with men, and in my heart I secretly built shrines to those I loved best.
It is splendid to feel the wind blowing in my face and the springy motion of my iron steed.
A medallion of Homer hangs on the wall of my study, conveniently low, so that I can easily reach it and touch the beautiful, sad face with loving reverence.
In the king's face, which he wore as a mask, there was a remoteness and inaccessibility of grief which I shall never forget.
Mr. Jefferson let me touch his face so that I could imagine how he looked on waking from that strange sleep of twenty years, and he showed me how poor old Rip staggered to his feet.
And I would keep my little hand on her face all the while, because it amused me to feel her face and lips move when she talked with people.
At first I was very sorry when I found that the sun had hidden his shining face behind dull clouds, but afterwards I thought why he did it, and then I was happy.
When Miss Keller speaks, her face is animated and expresses all the modes of her thought--the expressions that make the features eloquent and give speech half its meaning.
When she is talking with an intimate friend, however, her hand goes quickly to her friend's face to see, as she says, "the twist of the mouth."
When she was told of the surrender of the brave little people, her face clouded and she was silent a few minutes.
She felt my face and dress and my bag, which she took out of my hand and tried to open.
Her face flushed, and when her mother attempted to take the bag from her, she grew very angry.
Her face is hard to describe.
She is sitting by me as I write, her face serene and happy, crocheting a long red chain of Scotch wool.
And we notice that her face grows more expressive each day.
My first thought was, one of the dogs has hurt Mildred; but Helen's beaming face set my fears at rest.
She went through these motions several times, mimicking every movement, then she stood very still for a moment with a troubled look on her face, which suddenly cleared, and she spelled, "Good Helen," and wreathed her face in a very large, artificial smile.
She stood very still for a moment, and it was evident from her face, which was flushed and troubled, that a struggle was going on in her mind.
When she touched one with which she was familiar, a peculiarly sweet expression lighted her face, and we saw her countenance growing sweeter and more earnest every day.
Some of them cried, and the wild man of Borneo shrank from her sweet little face in terror.
I got up, washed my face and hands, combed my hair, picked three dew violets for Teacher and ate my breakfast.
Thornton goes to school and gets his face dirty.
When her attention was drawn to a marble slab inscribed with the name FLORENCE in relief, she dropped upon the ground as though looking for something, then turned to me with a face full of trouble, and asked, "Were is poor little Florence?"
The calf licked good boy's face with long rough tongue.
The fresh morning air blew softly in his face, as if to welcome him and be his merry playmate; and the bright eye of Mr. Sun looked at him with a warm and glowing smile; but Birdie soon walked on to find something to play with.
The fresh morning air blew gently in my face, as if to welcome me, and be my merry playmate, and the sun looked at me with a warm and tender smile.
It is said that a flood-tide, with a westerly wind, and ice in the Neva, would sweep St. Petersburg from the face of the earth.
I see by its face that it is visited by the same reflection; and I can almost say, Walden, is it you?
You can always see a face in the fire.
He wore a greatcoat in midsummer, being affected with the trembling delirium, and his face was the color of carmine.
The cheeks are a slide from the brows into the valley of the face, opposed and diffused by the cheek bones.
It is glorious to behold this ribbon of water sparkling in the sun, the bare face of the pond full of glee and youth, as if it spoke the joy of the fishes within it, and of the sands on its shore--a silvery sheen as from the scales of a leuciscus, as it were all one active fish.
No face which we can give to a matter will stead us so well at last as the truth.
She added that Her Majesty had deigned to show Baron Funke beaucoup d'estime, and again her face clouded over with sadness.
He turned away from her with a grimace that distorted his handsome face, kissed Anna Pavlovna's hand, and screwing up his eyes scanned the whole company.
All the affectation of interest she had assumed had left her kindly and tear-worn face and it now expressed only anxiety and fear.
But as soon as the prince had gone her face resumed its former cold, artificial expression.
Prince Andrew looked Anna Pavlovna straight in the face with a sarcastic smile.
Prince Hippolyte approached the little princess and, bending his face close to her, began to whisper something.
He lifted his eager face to Prince Andrew, smiled, and waved his hand.
Prince Andrew shook himself as if waking up, and his face assumed the look it had had in Anna Pavlovna's drawing room.
Suddenly the angry, squirrel-like expression of the princess' pretty face changed into a winning and piteous look of fear.
Her beautiful eyes glanced askance at her husband's face, and her own assumed the timid, deprecating expression of a dog when it rapidly but feebly wags its drooping tail.
Pierre took off his spectacles, which made his face seem different and the good-natured expression still more apparent, and gazed at his friend in amazement.
Every muscle of his thin face was now quivering with nervous excitement; his eyes, in which the fire of life had seemed extinguished, now flashed with brilliant light.
"But what is there to say about me?" said Pierre, his face relaxing into a careless, merry smile.
Like all infantry officers he wore no mustache, so that his mouth, the most striking feature of his face, was clearly seen.
The man who had wished to stop the affair ran to a corner of the room and threw himself on a sofa with his face to the wall.
Pierre hid his face, from which a faint smile forgot to fade though his features now expressed horror and fear.
The countess was a woman of about forty-five, with a thin Oriental type of face, evidently worn out with childbearing--she had had twelve.
Escaping from her father she ran to hide her flushed face in the lace of her mother's mantilla--not paying the least attention to her severe remark--and began to laugh.
Natasha, raising her face for a moment from her mother's mantilla, glanced up at her through tears of laughter, and again hid her face.
Boris was tall and fair, and his calm and handsome face had regular, delicate features.
Dark hairs were already showing on his upper lip, and his whole face expressed impetuosity and enthusiasm.
He waited for the first pause in the conversation, and then with a distressed face left the room to find Sonya.
Boris looked attentively and kindly at her eager face, but did not reply.
She took his arm and with a happy face went with him into the adjoining sitting room.
Anna Mikhaylovna, with her tear-worn but pleasant face, drew her chair nearer to that of the countess.
The son noticed that an expression of profound sorrow suddenly clouded his mother's face, and he smiled slightly.
"What do the doctors say?" asked the princess after a pause, her worn face again expressing deep sorrow.
She held a handkerchief to her eyes and her face was tearful.
Her face became sad.
"Annette, for heaven's sake don't refuse me," the countess began, with a blush that looked very strange on her thin, dignified, elderly face, and she took the money from under the handkerchief.
One of them was a sallow, clean-shaven civilian with a thin and wrinkled face, already growing old, though he was dressed like a most fashionable young man.
The countess in turn, without omitting her duties as hostess, threw significant glances from behind the pineapples at her husband whose face and bald head seemed by their redness to contrast more than usual with his gray hair.
Sonya tried to lift her head to answer but could not, and hid her face still deeper in the bed.
Sonya could not continue, and again hid her face in her hands and in the feather bed.
Sonya, shaking off some down which clung to her and tucking away the verses in the bosom of her dress close to her bony little chest, ran after Natasha down the passage into the sitting room with flushed face and light, joyous steps.
He drew himself up, a smile of debonair gallantry lit up his face and as soon as the last figure of the ecossaise was ended, he clapped his hands to the musicians and shouted up to their gallery, addressing the first violin:
And indeed everybody in the room looked with a smile of pleasure at the jovial old gentleman, who standing beside his tall and stout partner, Marya Dmitrievna, curved his arms, beat time, straightened his shoulders, turned out his toes, tapped gently with his foot, and, by a smile that broadened his round face more and more, prepared the onlookers for what was to follow.
Her enormous figure stood erect, her powerful arms hanging down (she had handed her reticule to the countess), and only her stern but handsome face really joined in the dance.
What was expressed by the whole of the count's plump figure, in Marya Dmitrievna found expression only in her more and more beaming face and quivering nose.
When the Military Governor had gone, Prince Vasili sat down all alone on a chair in the ballroom, crossing one leg high over the other, leaning his elbow on his knee and covering his face with his hand.
Prince Vasili said no more and his cheeks began to twitch nervously, now on one side, now on the other, giving his face an unpleasant expression which was never to be seen on it in a drawing room.
Anna Mikhaylovna, with a meek, sorrowful, and all-forgiving expression on her face, stood by the door near the strange lady.
His face wore a calm look of piety and resignation to the will of God.
She smiled, hid her face in her handkerchief, and remained with it hidden for awhile; then looking up and seeing Pierre she again began to laugh.
The sick man was so surrounded by doctors, princesses, and servants that Pierre could no longer see the reddish-yellow face with its gray mane-- which, though he saw other faces as well, he had not lost sight of for a single moment during the whole service.
Neither the hand nor a single muscle of the count's face stirred.
Suddenly the broad muscles and lines of the count's face began to twitch.
The eyes and face of the sick man showed impatience.
The sick man was turned on to his side with his face to the wall.
Here, Pierre, tell them your opinion, said she, turning to the young man who, having come quite close, was gazing with astonishment at the angry face of the princess which had lost all dignity, and at the twitching cheeks of Prince Vasili.
A few minutes later the eldest sister came out with a pale hard face, again biting her underlip.
And bursting into tears she hid her face in her handkerchief and rushed from the room.
He staggered to the sofa on which Pierre was sitting and dropped onto it, covering his face with his hand.
Princess Mary went back to her room with the sad, scared expression that rarely left her and which made her plain, sickly face yet plainer.
As with everyone, her face assumed a forced unnatural expression as soon as she looked in a glass.
The princess pondered awhile with a thoughtful smile and her luminous eyes lit up so that her face was entirely transformed.
The two women let go of one another, and then, as if afraid of being too late, seized each other's hands, kissing them and pulling them away, and again began kissing each other on the face, and then to Prince Andrew's surprise both began to cry and kissed again.
The little princess talked incessantly, her short, downy upper lip continually and rapidly touching her rosy nether lip when necessary and drawing up again next moment when her face broke into a smile of glittering teeth and sparkling eyes.
The face of the little princess changed.
She brought her face close to her sister-in-law's and unexpectedly again began to cry.
The old prince always dressed in old-fashioned style, wearing an antique coat and powdered hair; and when Prince Andrew entered his father's dressing room (not with the contemptuous look and manner he wore in drawing rooms, but with the animated face with which he talked to Pierre), the old man was sitting on a large leather-covered chair, wrapped in a powdering mantle, entrusting his head to Tikhon.
"Yes, Father, I have come to you and brought my wife who is pregnant," said Prince Andrew, following every movement of his father's face with an eager and respectful look.
Prince Andrew's face looked very thoughtful and tender.
Those eyes lit up the whole of her thin, sickly face and made it beautiful.
Red patches appeared on Princess Mary's face and she was silent as if she felt guilty.
He seized his son by the hand with small bony fingers, shook it, looked straight into his son's face with keen eyes which seemed to see through him, and again laughed his frigid laugh.
He cautiously released the shoulder she leaned on, looked into her face, and carefully placed her in an easy chair.
The captain's face showed the uneasiness of a schoolboy who is told to repeat a lesson he has not learned.
Beside him was his comrade Nesvitski, a tall staff officer, extremely stout, with a kindly, smiling, handsome face and moist eyes.
This hussar, with a grave face and without a smile or a change in the expression of his fixed eyes, watched the regimental commander's back and mimicked his every movement.
The hussar at that moment noticed the face of the red-nosed captain and his drawn-in stomach, and mimicked his expression and pose with such exactitude that Nesvitski could not help laughing.
The officer evidently had complete control of his face, and while Kutuzov was turning managed to make a grimace and then assume a most serious, deferential, and innocent expression.
(The regimental commander's face now that the inspection was happily over beamed with irrepressible delight.)
In the expression of his face, in his movements, in his walk, scarcely a trace was left of his former affected languor and indolence.
His face expressed more satisfaction with himself and those around him, his smile and glance were brighter and more attractive.
The general's face clouded, his lips quivered and trembled.
Kutuzov's face as he stood in the open doorway remained perfectly immobile for a few moments.
Then wrinkles ran over his face like a wave and his forehead became smooth again, he bowed his head respectfully, closed his eyes, silently let Mack enter his room before him, and closed the door himself behind him.
"Why are you so glum?" asked Nesvitski noticing Prince Andrew's pale face and glittering eyes.
His landlord, who in a waistcoat and a pointed cap, pitchfork in hand, was clearing manure from the cowhouse, looked out, and his face immediately brightened on seeing Rostov.
Denisov was a small man with a red face, sparkling black eyes, and black tousled mustache and hair.
Puckering up his face though smiling, and showing his short strong teeth, he began with stubby fingers of both hands to ruffle up his thick tangled black hair.
(an officer nicknamed "the rat") he said, rubbing his forehead and whole face with both hands.
Denisov's face puckered still more.
The lieutenant never looked the man he was speaking to straight in the face; his eyes continually wandered from one object to another.
On seeing Rostov, Denisov screwed up his face and pointing over his shoulder with his thumb to the room where Telyanin was sitting, he frowned and gave a shudder of disgust.
All the blood which had seemed congested somewhere below his throat rushed to his face and eyes.
Every muscle of Telyanin's pale, terrified face began to quiver, his eyes still shifted from side to side but with a downward look not rising to Rostov's face, and his sobs were audible.
Sometimes through the monotonous waves of men, like a fleck of white foam on the waves of the Enns, an officer, in a cloak and with a type of face different from that of the men, squeezed his way along; sometimes like a chip of wood whirling in the river, an hussar on foot, an orderly, or a townsman was carried through the waves of infantry; and sometimes like a log floating down the river, an officers' or company's baggage wagon, piled high, leather covered, and hemmed in on all sides, moved across the bridge.
Every face bore almost the same smile, expressing unseemly thoughts about the women.
Your fine cords would soon get a bit rubbed, said an infantryman, wiping the mud off his face with his sleeve.
Every face, from Denisov's to that of the bugler, showed one common expression of conflict, irritation, and excitement, around chin and mouth.
But despite himself, on his face too that same indication of something new and stern showed round the mouth.
The black, hairy, snub-nosed face of Vaska Denisov, and his whole short sturdy figure with the sinewy hairy hand and stumpy fingers in which he held the hilt of his naked saber, looked just as it usually did, especially toward evening when he had emptied his second bottle; he was only redder than usual.
His face with its long mustache was serious as always, only his eyes were brighter than usual.
"Ah, Wostov," he cried noticing the cadet's bright face, "you've got it at last."
"Attack indeed!" said the colonel in a bored voice, puckering up his face as if driving off a troublesome fly.
He had an intellectual and distinctive head, but the instant he turned to Prince Andrew the firm, intelligent expression on his face changed in a way evidently deliberate and habitual to him.
His face took on the stupid artificial smile (which does not even attempt to hide its artificiality) of a man who is continually receiving many petitioners one after another.
The stupid smile, which had left his face while he was speaking, reappeared.
His thin, worn, sallow face was covered with deep wrinkles, which always looked as clean and well washed as the tips of one's fingers after a Russian bath.
Bilibin smiled and the wrinkles on his face disappeared.
"If we live we shall see," replied Bilibin, his face again becoming smooth as a sign that the conversation was at an end.
His usually calm face showed excitement.
Before the officer finished his sentence Prince Andrew, his face distorted with fury, rode up to him and raised his riding whip.
Nesvitski's handsome face looked out of the little window.
Kozlovski's face looked worn--he too had evidently not slept all night.
Just as he was going to open it the sounds ceased, the door opened, and Kutuzov with his eagle nose and puffy face appeared in the doorway.
He looked straight at his adjutant's face without recognizing him.
Bagration, a gaunt middle-aged man of medium height with a firm, impassive face of Oriental type, came out after the commander-in-chief.
His face suddenly softened and tears came into his eyes.
Prince Andrew glanced at Kutuzov's face only a foot distant from him and involuntarily noticed the carefully washed seams of the scar near his temple, where an Ismail bullet had pierced his skull, and the empty eye socket.
A young officer with a bewildered and pained expression on his face stepped away from the man and looked round inquiringly at the adjutant as he rode by.
Here it is! was seen even on Prince Bagration's hard brown face with its half-closed, dull, sleepy eyes.
Prince Andrew gazed with anxious curiosity at that impassive face and wished he could tell what, if anything, this man was thinking and feeling at that moment.
Prince Andrew was struck by the changed expression on Prince Bagration's face at this moment.
A fat major skirted a bush, puffing and falling out of step; a soldier who had fallen behind, his face showing alarm at his defection, ran at a trot, panting to catch up with his company.
The foremost Frenchman, the one with the hooked nose, was already so close that the expression of his face could be seen.
And the excited, alien face of that man, his bayonet hanging down, holding his breath, and running so lightly, frightened Rostov.
Rapidly leaping the furrows, he fled across the field with the impetuosity he used to show at catchplay, now and then turning his good-natured, pale, young face to look back.
The soldier was pale, his blue eyes looked impudently into the commander's face, and his lips were smiling.
His face grew more and more animated.
The soldiers, for the most part handsome fellows and, as is always the case in an artillery company, a head and shoulders taller and twice as broad as their officer--all looked at their commander like children in an embarrassing situation, and the expression on his face was invariably reflected on theirs.
Prince Vasili mimicked the sobbing of Sergey Kuzmich and at the same time his eyes glanced toward his daughter, and while he laughed the expression on his face clearly said: "Yes... it's getting on, it will all be settled today."
He felt it awkward to attract everyone's attention and to be considered a lucky man and, with his plain face, to be looked on as a sort of Paris possessed of a Helen.
His face was so unusually triumphant that Pierre rose in alarm on seeing it.
Her face struck Pierre, by its altered, unpleasantly excited expression.
The prince looked at his daughter's frightened face and snorted.
She flushed, her beautiful eyes grew dim, red blotches came on her face, and it took on the unattractive martyrlike expression it so often wore, as she submitted herself to Mademoiselle Bourienne and Lise.
It was not the dress, but the face and whole figure of Princess Mary that was not pretty, but neither Mademoiselle Bourienne nor the little princess felt this; they still thought that if a blue ribbon were placed in the hair, the hair combed up, and the blue scarf arranged lower on the best maroon dress, and so on, all would be well.
They forgot that the frightened face and the figure could not be altered, and that however they might change the setting and adornment of that face, it would still remain piteous and plain.
This expression in Princess Mary did not frighten them (she never inspired fear in anyone), but they knew that when it appeared on her face, she became mute and was not to be shaken in her determination.
She saw Prince Vasili's face, serious for an instant at the sight of her, but immediately smiling again, and the little princess curiously noting the impression "Marie" produced on the visitors.
And she saw Mademoiselle Bourienne, with her ribbon and pretty face, and her unusually animated look which was fixed on him, but him she could not see, she only saw something large, brilliant, and handsome moving toward her as she entered the room.
Anatole stood with his right thumb under a button of his uniform, his chest expanded and his back drawn in, slightly swinging one foot, and, with his head a little bent, looked with beaming face at the princess without speaking and evidently not thinking about her at all.
Princess Mary grew quite unconscious of her face and coiffure.
The handsome open face of the man who might perhaps be her husband absorbed all her attention.
Can it be possible? she thought, not daring to look at his face, but still feeling his eyes gazing at her.
She did not know how she found the courage, but she looked straight into his handsome face as it came near to her shortsighted eyes.
She could not lie either on her face or on her side.
She read this in Tikhon's face and in that of Prince Vasili's valet, who made her a low bow when she met him in the corridor carrying hot water.
Anatole's face seemed to say.
Her face wore the proud expression of a surgeon who has just performed a difficult operation and admits the public to appreciate his skill.
Boris, in the accurate way characteristic of him, was building a little pyramid of chessmen with his delicate white fingers while awaiting Berg's move, and watched his opponent's face, evidently thinking about the game as he always thought only of whatever he was engaged on.
After reading a few lines, he glanced angrily at Berg, then, meeting his eyes, hid his face behind the letter.
Do go somewhere, anywhere... to the devil!" he exclaimed, and immediately seizing him by the shoulder and looking amiably into his face, evidently wishing to soften the rudeness of his words, he added, "Don't be hurt, my dear fellow; you know I speak from my heart as to an old acquaintance."
Rostov himself, his legs well back and his stomach drawn in and feeling himself one with his horse, rode past the Emperor with a frowning but blissful face "like a vewy devil," as Denisov expressed it.
When he entered, Prince Andrew, his eyes drooping contemptuously (with that peculiar expression of polite weariness which plainly says, "If it were not my duty I would not talk to you for a moment"), was listening to an old Russian general with decorations, who stood very erect, almost on tiptoe, with a soldier's obsequious expression on his purple face, reporting something.
They followed Prince Dolgorukov out into the corridor and met--coming out of the door of the Emperor's room by which Dolgorukov had entered--a short man in civilian clothes with a clever face and sharply projecting jaw which, without spoiling his face, gave him a peculiar vivacity and shiftiness of expression.
Prince Andrew did neither: a look of animosity appeared on his face and the other turned away and went down the side of the corridor.
He was breathless with agitation, his face was red, and when he heard some French spoken he at once began speaking to the officers, addressing first one, then another.
He remained stubbornly silent, gazing at Weyrother's face, and only turned away his eyes when the Austrian chief of staff finished reading.
Next to Weyrother sat Count Langeron who, with a subtle smile that never left his typically southern French face during the whole time of the reading, gazed at his delicate fingers which rapidly twirled by its corners a gold snuffbox on which was a portrait.
Bagration stopped and, before replying, tried to see Rostov's face in the mist.
Not a single muscle of his face--which in those days was still thin--moved.
This unpleasant impression merely flitted over the young and happy face of the Emperor like a cloud of haze across a clear sky and vanished.
"That is just why I do not begin, sire," said Kutuzov in a resounding voice, apparently to preclude the possibility of not being heard, and again something in his face twitched--"That is just why I do not begin, sire, because we are not on parade and not on the Empress' Field," said clearly and distinctly.
Nesvitski with an angry face, red and unlike himself, was shouting to Kutuzov that if he did not ride away at once he would certainly be taken prisoner.
"Fine men!" remarked Napoleon, looking at a dead Russian grenadier, who, with his face buried in the ground and a blackened nape, lay on his stomach with an already stiffened arm flung wide.
His face shone with self-satisfaction and pleasure.
Natasha, after she had pulled him down toward her and covered his face with kisses, holding him tight by the skirt of his coat, sprang away and pranced up and down in one place like a goat and shrieked piercingly.
She could not lift her face, but only pressed it to the cold braiding of his hussar's jacket.
Denisov hid his hairy legs under the blanket, looking with a scared face at his comrade for help.
Rostov felt that, under the influence of the warm rays of love, that childlike smile which had not once appeared on his face since he left home now for the first time after eighteen months again brightened his soul and his face.
At that toast, the count took out his handkerchief and, covering his face, wept outright.
His face was depressed and gloomy.
He remembered the expression Dolokhov's face assumed in his moments of cruelty, as when tying the policeman to the bear and dropping them into the water, or when he challenged a man to a duel without any reason, or shot a post-boy's horse with a pistol.
That expression was often on Dolokhov's face when looking at him.
His haggard face was yellow.
His face was pale.
His frowning face was pallid and quivered.
"Missed!" shouted Dolokhov, and he lay helplessly, face downwards on the snow.
Helene's face became terrible, she shrieked and sprang aside.
She approached him, saw his face, and something gave way within her.
She was already pale, but on hearing these words her face changed and something brightened in her beautiful, radiant eyes.
Blackguards! shrieked the old man, turning his face away from her.
Princess Mary knelt down before her and hid her face in the folds of her sister-in-law's dress.
After a while he re-entered it as if to snuff the candles, and, seeing the prince was lying on the sofa, looked at him, noticed his perturbed face, shook his head, and going up to him silently kissed him on the shoulder and left the room without snuffing the candles or saying why he had entered.
"No it can't be, that would be too extraordinary," and at the very moment she thought this, the face and figure of Prince Andrew, in a fur cloak the deep collar of which covered with snow, appeared on the landing where the footman stood with the candle.
A woman came from the bedroom with a frightened face and became confused when she saw Prince Andrew.
He covered his face with his hands and remained so for some minutes.
She was lying dead, in the same position he had seen her in five minutes before and, despite the fixed eyes and the pallor of the cheeks, the same expression was on her charming childlike face with its upper lip covered with tiny black hair.
And there in the coffin was the same face, though with closed eyes.
The old man too came up and kissed the waxen little hands that lay quietly crossed one on the other on her breast, and to him, too, her face seemed to say: "Ah, what have you done to me, and why?"
But before he had thought of anything, Dolokhov, looking straight in his face, said slowly and deliberately so that everyone could hear:
I will tell him myself, and you'll listen at the door, and Natasha ran across the drawing room to the dancing hall, where Denisov was sitting on the same chair by the clavichord with his face in his hands.
He looked at the countess, and seeing her severe face said: "Well, good-by, Countess," and kissing her hand, he left the room with quick resolute strides, without looking at Natasha.
The stranger's face was not genial, it was even cold and severe, but in spite of this, both the face and words of his new acquaintance were irresistibly attractive to Pierre.
Pierre listened with swelling heart, gazing into the Mason's face with shining eyes, not interrupting or questioning him, but believing with his whole soul what the stranger said.
Pierre looked at that aged, stern, motionless, almost lifeless face and moved his lips without uttering a sound.
Then he drew his face down, kissed him, and taking him by the hand led him forward.
The hairs tied in the knot hurt Pierre and there were lines of pain on his face and a shamefaced smile.
His huge figure, with arms hanging down and with a puckered, though smiling face, moved after Willarski with uncertain, timid steps.
This short man had on a white leather apron which covered his chest and part of his legs; he had on a kind of necklace above which rose a high white ruffle, outlining his rather long face which was lit up from below.
He blinked, went red, got up and sat down again, struggling with himself to do what was for him the most difficult thing in life--to say an unpleasant thing to a man's face, to say what the other, whoever he might be, did not expect.
He himself carefully scanned each face, appraising the possibilities of establishing intimacy with each of those present, and the advantages that might accrue.
There were other guests and the countess talked little to him, and only as he kissed her hand on taking leave said unexpectedly and in a whisper, with a strangely unsmiling face: Come to dinner tomorrow... in the evening.
The angel's upper lip was slightly raised as though about to smile, and once on coming out of the chapel Prince Andrew and Princess Mary admitted to one another that the angel's face reminded them strangely of the little princess.
But what was still stranger, though of this Prince Andrew said nothing to his sister, was that in the expression the sculptor had happened to give the angel's face, Prince Andrew read the same mild reproach he had read on the face of his dead wife: "Ah, why have you done this to me?"
He did not look round, but still gazing at the infant's face listened to his regular breathing.
So the first task Pierre had to face was one for which he had very little aptitude or inclination--practical business.
Pierre went with rapid steps to the door and suddenly came face to face with Prince Andrew, who came out frowning and looking old.
Pierre looked silently and searchingly into Prince Andrew's face, which had grown much older.
Princess Mary really was disconcerted and red patches came on her face when they went in.
"Really?" said Pierre, gazing over his spectacles with curiosity and seriousness (for which Princess Mary was specially grateful to him) into Ivanushka's face, who, seeing that she was being spoken about, looked round at them all with crafty eyes.
Such a brightness on the face like the light of heaven, and from the blessed Mother's cheek it drops and drops....
Pelageya stopped doubtfully, but in Pierre's face there was such a look of sincere penitence, and Prince Andrew glanced so meekly now at her and now at Pierre, that she was gradually reassured.
That spring a new disease broke out among the soldiers, a swelling of the arms, legs, and face, which the doctors attributed to eating this root.
One morning, between seven and eight, returning after a sleepless night, he sent for embers, changed his rain-soaked underclothes, said his prayers, drank tea, got warm, then tidied up the things on the table and in his own corner, and, his face glowing from exposure to the wind and with nothing on but his shirt, lay down on his back, putting his arms under his head.
But at noon the adjutant of the regiment came into Rostov's and Denisov's dugout with a grave and serious face and regretfully showed them a paper addressed to Major Denisov from the regimental commander in which inquiries were made about yesterday's occurrence.
His face was purple, his eyes were rolled back so that only the whites were seen, and on his bare legs and arms which were still red, the veins stood out like cords.
Close to the corner, on an overcoat, sat an old, unshaven, gray-bearded soldier as thin as a skeleton, with a stern sallow face and eyes intently fixed on Rostov.
His pale waxen face was still freckled and his eyes were rolled back.
How are you, how are you? he called out, still in the same voice as in the regiment, but Rostov noticed sadly that under this habitual ease and animation some new, sinister, hidden feeling showed itself in the expression of Denisov's face and the intonations of his voice.
His face had the same swollen pallor as the faces of the other hospital patients, but it was not this that struck Rostov.
An expression of annoyance showed itself for a moment on his face on first recognizing Rostov.
The look of annoyance had already disappeared from Boris' face: having evidently reflected and decided how to act, he very quietly took both Rostov's hands and led him into the next room.
When he and Boris were alone, Rostov felt for the first time that he could not look Boris in the face without a sense of awkwardness.
Rostov, in dismay, began justifying himself, but seeing the kindly, jocular face of the general, he took him aside and in an excited voice told him the whole affair, asking him to intercede for Denisov, whom the general knew.
Forgetting the danger of being recognized, Rostov went close to the porch, together with some inquisitive civilians, and again, after two years, saw those features he adored: that same face and same look and step, and the same union of majesty and mildness....
Napoleon's face wore an unpleasant and artificial smile.
His face twitched, as often happens to soldiers called before the ranks.
Then suddenly the grating sound of a harsh voice was heard from the other side of the door, and the officer--with pale face and trembling lips--came out and passed through the waiting room, clutching his head.
He rose, took Prince Andrew by the arm, and went to meet a tall, bald, fair man of about forty with a large open forehead and a long face of unusual and peculiar whiteness, who was just entering.
Speranski did not shift his eyes from one face to another as people involuntarily do on entering a large company and was in no hurry to speak.
The smile vanished from Speranski's white face, which was much improved by the change.
But as soon as I drew near I saw that his face had changed and grown young, and he was quietly telling me something about the teaching of our order, but so softly that I could not hear it.
Joseph Alexeevich's face had looked young and bright.
I embraced him and kissed his hands, and he said, "Hast thou noticed that my face is different?"
I looked at him, still holding him in my arms, and saw that his face was young, but that he had no hair on his head and his features were quite changed.
This expression on his face pleased Natasha.
The countess finished her prayers and came to the bed with a stern face, but seeing, that Natasha's head was covered, she smiled in her kind, weak way.
Natasha was lying looking steadily straight before her at one of the mahogany sphinxes carved on the corners of the bedstead, so that the countess only saw her daughter's face in profile.
That face struck her by its peculiarly serious and concentrated expression.
The despairing, dejected expression of Natasha's face caught his eye.
He recognized her, guessed her feelings, saw that it was her debut, remembered her conversation at the window, and with an expression of pleasure on his face approached Countess Rostova.
That tremulous expression on Natasha's face, prepared either for despair or rapture, suddenly brightened into a happy, grateful, childlike smile.
Her little feet in their white satin dancing shoes did their work swiftly, lightly, and independently of herself, while her face beamed with ecstatic happiness.
Prince Andrew, with a beaming, ecstatic expression of renewed life on his face, paused in front of Pierre and, not noticing his sad look, smiled at him with the egotism of joy.
"There, that's me!" the expression of her face seemed to say as she caught sight of herself.
When she saw herself, her face was pale.
As soon as he saw Natasha his face brightened.
The countess' face flushed hotly, but she said nothing.
Her face said: Why ask?
Prince Andrew did not reply, but his face expressed the impossibility of altering that decision.
She looked into her lover's face and saw in it a look of commiseration and perplexity.
Then with no less fear and delight they saw how the young count, red in the face and with bloodshot eyes, dragged Mitenka out by the scruff of the neck and applied his foot and knee to his behind with great agility at convenient moments between the words, shouting, Be off!
Never let me see your face here again, you villain!
Natasha, muffled up in shawls which did not hide her eager face and shining eyes, galloped up to them.
The count, forgetting to smooth out the smile on his face, looked into the distance straight before him, down the narrow open space, holding the snuffbox in his hand but not taking any.
Nearer and nearer... now she was ahead of it; but the wolf turned its head to face her, and instead of putting on speed as she usually did Milka suddenly raised her tail and stiffened her forelegs.
While still at a distance he took off his cap and tried to speak respectfully, but he was pale and breathless and his face was angry.
"Uncle's" face was very significant and even handsome as he said this.
Anisya Fedorovna flushed, and drawing her kerchief over her face went laughing out of the room.
Anisya Fedorovna's smiling face reappeared in the doorway and behind hers other faces...
Natasha threw off the shawl from her shoulders, ran forward to face "Uncle," and setting her arms akimbo also made a motion with her shoulders and struck an attitude.
Where is he now? she thought, and her face suddenly became serious.
Nastasya Ivanovna the buffoon sat with a sad face at the window with two old ladies.
Nicholas glanced round at Sonya, and bent down to see her face closer.
Zakhar held back his horses and turned his face, which was already covered with hoarfrost to his eyebrows.
"And who is this?" she asked her governess, peering into the face of her own daughter dressed up as a Kazan-Tartar.
Sometimes, as she looked at the strange but amusing capers cut by the dancers, who--having decided once for all that being disguised, no one would recognize them--were not at all shy, Pelageya Danilovna hid her face in her handkerchief, and her whole stout body shook with irrepressible, kindly, elderly laughter.
On the way back Nicholas drove at a steady pace instead of racing and kept peering by that fantastic all-transforming light into Sonya's face and searching beneath the eyebrows and mustache for his former and his present Sonya from whom he had resolved never to be parted again.
Oh, how funny you look! cried Nicholas, peering into her face and finding in his sister too something new, unusual, and bewitchingly tender that he had not seen in her before.
"Then it's all right?" said Nicholas, again scrutinizing the expression of his sister's face to see if she was in earnest.
With Sonya's help and the maid's, Natasha got the glass she held into the right position opposite the other; her face assumed a serious expression and she sat silent.
His face was cheerful, and he turned to me.
But he had no time to utter the decisive word which the expression of his face caused his mother to await with terror, and which would perhaps have forever remained a cruel memory to them both.
The countess, sobbing heavily, hid her face on her daughter's breast, while Nicholas rose, clutching his head, and left the room.
At first she heard only Metivier's voice, then her father's, then both voices began speaking at the same time, the door was flung open, and on the threshold appeared the handsome figure of the terrified Metivier with his shock of black hair, and the prince in his dressing gown and fez, his face distorted with fury and the pupils of his eyes rolled downwards.
The whole expression of his face told her that he had not forgotten the morning's talk, that his decision remained in force, and only the presence of visitors hindered his speaking of it to her now.
"Really?" asked Princess Mary, looking into Pierre's kindly face and still thinking of her own sorrow.
Princess Mary sighed, and the expression on her face said: "Yes, that's what I expected and feared."
He checked himself in the middle of the sentence, lowered his eyes to avoid seeing her unpleasantly irritated and irresolute face, and said:
There was no need to say more: Julie's face shone with triumph and self- satisfaction; but she forced Boris to say all that is said on such occasions--that he loved her and had never loved any other woman more than her.
Marya Dmitrievna, with her spectacles hanging down on her nose and her head flung back, stood in the hall doorway looking with a stern, grim face at the new arrivals.
Natasha raised her head and, kissing her friend on the lips, pressed her wet face against her.
His face looked sad, and he had grown still stouter since Natasha last saw him.
While saying this he never removed his smiling eyes from her face, her neck, and her bare arms.
And again in imagination she went over her whole conversation with Kuragin, and again saw the face, gestures, and tender smile of that bold handsome man when he pressed her arm.
But in nothing in the house was the holiday so noticeable as in Marya Dmitrievna's broad, stern face, which on that day wore an invariable look of solemn festivity.
Can I never...? and, blocking her path, he brought his face close to hers.
As she read she glanced at the sleeping Natasha, trying to find in her face an explanation of what she was reading, but did not find it.
Her face was calm, gentle, and happy.
And with the decision and tenderness that often come at the moment of awakening, she embraced her friend, but noticing Sonya's look of embarrassment, her own face expressed confusion and suspicion.
The more emotional and ingratiating the expression of Natasha's face became, the more serious and stern grew Sonya's.
There was something particularly pathetic and resolute in her face today.
Mind, I'll smash your face in!
"That's the way," said Dolokhov, "and then so!" and he turned the collar up round her head, leaving only a little of the face uncovered.
She put her large hand under Natasha's face and turned it toward her.
But Natasha was not asleep; with pale face and fixed wide-open eyes she looked straight before her.
When the count came to see her she turned anxiously round at the sound of a man's footstep, and then her face resumed its cold and malevolent expression.
Anatole was sitting upright in the classic pose of military dandies, the lower part of his face hidden by his beaver collar and his head slightly bent.
His face was fresh and rosy, his white-plumed hat, tilted to one side, disclosed his curled and pomaded hair besprinkled with powdery snow.
He did not know that Natasha's soul was overflowing with despair, shame, and humiliation, and that it was not her fault that her face happened to assume an expression of calm dignity and severity.
Anatole followed him with his usual jaunty step but his face betrayed anxiety.
Pierre's face, already pale, became distorted by fury.
He seized Anatole by the collar of his uniform with his big hand and shook him from side to side till Anatole's face showed a sufficient degree of terror.
Pierre saw the distracted count, and Sonya, who had a tear-stained face, but he could not see Natasha.
She sighed, looking toward the door of the room where Prince Andrew was, evidently intending to express her sympathy with his sorrow, but Pierre saw by her face that she was glad both at what had happened and at the way her brother had taken the news of Natasha's faithlessness.
His face quivered and immediately assumed a vindictive expression.
His face was gloomy and his lips compressed.
Pierre saw that Prince Andrew was going to speak of Natasha, and his broad face expressed pity and sympathy.
Natasha was standing in the middle of the drawing room, emaciated, with a pale set face, but not at all shamefaced as Pierre expected to find her.
Boris noticed Arakcheev's excited face when the sovereign went out with Balashev.
Murat's face beamed with stupid satisfaction as he listened to "Monsieur de Bal-macheve."
This inevitability alone can explain how the cruel Arakcheev, who tore out a grenadier's mustache with his own hands, whose weak nerves rendered him unable to face danger, and who was neither an educated man nor a courtier, was able to maintain his powerful position with Alexander, whose own character was chivalrous, noble, and gentle.
He became still more absorbed in his task when the Russian general entered, and after glancing over his spectacles at Balashev's face, which was animated by the beauty of the morning and by his talk with Murat, he did not rise or even stir, but scowled still more and sneered malevolently.
When he noticed in Balashev's face the disagreeable impression this reception produced, Davout raised his head and coldly asked what he wanted.
His full face, rather young-looking, with its prominent chin, wore a gracious and majestic expression of imperial welcome.
He glanced with his large eyes into Balashav's face and immediately looked past him.
Balashev noticed that his left leg was quivering faster than before and his face seemed petrified in its stern expression.
"Know that if you stir up Prussia against me, I'll wipe it off the map of Europe!" he declared, his face pale and distorted by anger, and he struck one of his small hands energetically with the other.
Again Napoleon brought out his snuffbox, paced several times up and down the room in silence, and then, suddenly and unexpectedly, went up to Balashev and with a slight smile, as confidently, quickly, and simply as if he were doing something not merely important but pleasing to Balashev, he raised his hand to the forty-year-old Russian general's face and, taking him by the ear, pulled it gently, smiling with his lips only.
His face was much wrinkled and his eyes deep set.
And so he did not like Zdrzhinski's tale, nor did he like Zdrzhinski himself who, with his mustaches extending over his cheeks, bent low over the face of his hearer, as was his habit, and crowded Rostov in the narrow shanty.
His face was sad and depressed.
Seeing his gloomy face as he frowned at his wife, the officers grew still merrier, and some of them could not refrain from laughter, for which they hurriedly sought plausible pretexts.
He glanced with pity at the excited face of Ilyin, who talked much and in great agitation.
His pale and mud-stained face--fair and young, with a dimple in the chin and light-blue eyes--was not an enemy's face at all suited to a battlefield, but a most ordinary, homelike face.
On all sides, the hussars were busy with the dragoons; one was wounded, but though his face was bleeding, he would not give up his horse; another was perched up behind an hussar with his arms round him; a third was being helped by an hussar to mount his horse.
The doctor came every day, felt her pulse, looked at her tongue, and regardless of her grief-stricken face joked with her.
Laughter and singing in particular seemed to her like a blasphemy, in face of her sorrow.
The countess, with a cheerful expression on her face, looked down at her nails and spat a little for luck as she returned to the drawing room.
The countess looked round several times at her daughter's softened face and shining eyes and prayed God to help her.
She had her back to him when he opened the door, but when, turning quickly, she saw his broad, surprised face, she blushed and came rapidly up to him.
Natasha entered with a softened and agitated expression of face and sat down looking silently at Pierre.
After dinner the count settled himself comfortably in an easy chair and with a serious face asked Sonya, who was considered an excellent reader, to read the appeal.
At this moment, Petya, to whom nobody was paying any attention, came up to his father with a very flushed face and said in his breaking voice that was now deep and now shrill:
When he came in to tea, silent, morose, and with tear-stained face, everybody pretended not to notice anything.
Petya wiped his perspiring face with his hands and pulled up the damp collar which he had arranged so well at home to seem like a man's.
Every face expressed respectful, awe-struck curiosity.
He was still lying on the bed as before, but the stern expression of his quiet face made Princess Mary stop short on the threshold.
And hiding her face in her hands, Princess Mary sank into the arms of the doctor, who held her up.
She lay on the sofa with her face to the wall, fingering the buttons of the leather cushion and seeing nothing but that cushion, and her confused thoughts were centered on one subject--the irrevocability of death and her own spiritual baseness, which she had not suspected, but which had shown itself during her father's illness.
Princess Mary read the paper, and her face began to quiver with stifled sobs.
The old valet Tikhon, with sunken, emaciated face that bore the stamp of inconsolable grief, replied: "Yes, Princess" to all Princess Mary's questions and hardly refrained from sobbing as he looked at her.
She now saw his face before her.
And not the face she had known ever since she could remember and had always seen at a distance, but the timid, feeble face she had seen for the first time quite closely, with all its wrinkles and details, when she stooped near to his mouth to catch what he said.
With wide-open eyes she gazed at the moonlight and the shadows, expecting every moment to see his dead face, and she felt that the silence brooding over the house and within it held her fast.
Princess Mary noticed this and glanced gratefully at him with that radiant look which caused the plainness of her face to be forgotten.
But on glancing at Rostov's face Ilyin stopped short.
With a pale and frowning face Dron stepped out of the crowd.
But the princess, if she did not again thank him in words, thanked him with the whole expression of her face, radiant with gratitude and tenderness.
I'm Lieutenant Colonel Denisov, better known as 'Vaska,' said Denisov, pressing Prince Andrew's hand and looking into his face with a particularly kindly attention.
Suddenly his face assumed a subtle expression, he shrugged his shoulders with an air of perplexity.
His face expressed the relief of relaxed strain felt by a man who means to rest after a ceremony.
He drew his left foot out of the stirrup and, lurching with his whole body and puckering his face with the effort, raised it with difficulty onto the saddle, leaned on his knee, groaned, and slipped down into the arms of the Cossacks and adjutants who stood ready to assist him.
As often occurs with old men, it was only after some seconds that the impression produced by Prince Andrew's face linked itself up with Kutuzov's remembrance of his personality.
I remember, yes, I remember you with the standard! said Kutuzov, and a flush of pleasure suffused Prince Andrew's face at this recollection.
The latter in Pierre's presence had ceased to be caustic, and his face expressed perplexity as to what Julie's smile might mean.
Only the eldest princess, the one with the stony face and long waist, was still living in Pierre's house.
With a frightened and suffering look resembling that on the thin Frenchman's face, Pierre pushed his way in through the crowd.
Pierre choked, his face puckered, and he turned hastily away, went back to his trap muttering something to himself as he went, and took his seat.
The third lay prone so that his face was not visible.
With a long overcoat on his exceedingly stout, round-shouldered body, with uncovered white head and puffy face showing the white ball of the eye he had lost, Kutuzov walked with plunging, swaying gait into the crowd and stopped behind the priest.
As he said this his eyes and face expressed more than coldness--they expressed hostility, which Pierre noticed at once.
He had approached the shed full of animation, but on seeing Prince Andrew's face he felt constrained and ill at ease.
It was already dark, and Pierre could not make out whether the expression of Prince Andrew's face was angry or tender.
Natasha with animated and excited face was telling him how she had gone to look for mushrooms the previous summer and had lost her way in the big forest.
Napoleon's short hair was wet and matted on the forehead, but his face, though puffy and yellow, expressed physical satisfaction.
With the natural capacity of an Italian for changing the expression of his face at will, he drew nearer to the portrait and assumed a look of pensive tenderness.
The young officer, with his face still more flushed, commanded the men more scrupulously than ever.
The stormcloud had come upon them, and in every face the fire which Pierre had watched kindle burned up brightly.
The officer's face was red and perspiring and his eyes glittered under his frowning brow.
The sun had risen brightly and its slanting rays struck straight into Napoleon's face as, shading his eyes with his hand, he looked at the fleches.
Kutuzov's general expression was one of concentrated quiet attention, and his face wore a strained look as if he found it difficult to master the fatigue of his old and feeble body.
Prince Andrew lay on his chest with his face in the grass, breathing heavily and noisily.
He glanced at Prince Andrew's face and quickly turned away.
He rode hurriedly from the battlefield and returned to the Shevardino knoll, where he sat on his campstool, his sallow face swollen and heavy, his eyes dim, his nose red, and his voice hoarse, involuntarily listening, with downcast eyes, to the sounds of firing.
Konovnitsyn's firm, handsome, and kindly face was lit up by a tender, sly smile.
She was nearest to him and saw how his face puckered; he seemed about to cry, but this did not last long.
The abbe, a well-fed man with a plump, clean-shaven chin, a pleasant firm mouth, and white hands meekly folded on his knees, sat close to Helene and, with a subtle smile on his lips and a peaceful look of delight at her beauty, occasionally glanced at her face as he explained his opinion on the subject.
"Comtesse, a tout peche misericorde," * said a fair-haired young man with a long face and nose, as he entered the room.
As he sat bending greedily over it, helping himself to large spoonfuls and chewing one after another, his face was lit up by the fire and the soldiers looked at him in silence.
"Oh, so that is Vereshchagin!" said Pierre, looking at the firm, calm face of the old man and seeking any indication of his being a traitor.
When he entered the private room Count Rostopchin, puckering his face, was rubbing his forehead and eyes with his hand.
Natasha glanced with frightened eyes at the face of the wounded officer and at once went to meet the major.
Natasha quietly repeated her question, and her face and whole manner were so serious, though she was still holding the ends of her handkerchief, that the major ceased smiling and after some reflection-- as if considering in how far the thing was possible--replied in the affirmative.
The countess looked with timid horror at her son's eager, excited face as he said this.
"I won't!" cried Natasha, with one hand holding back the hair that hung over her perspiring face, while with the other she pressed down the carpets.
The officer came nearer and suddenly his face flushed crimson.
Natasha watched him with an intent gaze that confused him, as if she were trying to find in his face the answer to some question.
"I consider," Natasha suddenly almost shouted, turning her angry face to Petya, "I consider it so horrid, so abominable, so...
The count, pipe in hand, was pacing up and down the room, when Natasha, her face distorted by anger, burst in like a tempest and approached her mother with rapid steps.
Suddenly he sniffed and put his face closer to the window.
The countess glanced at her daughter, saw her face full of shame for her mother, saw her agitation, and understood why her husband did not turn to look at her now, and she glanced round quite disconcerted.
What's the matter? asked Natasha, as with animated face she ran into the room.
And Dunyasha, with clenched teeth, without replying but with an aggrieved look on her face, hastily got into the coach to rearrange the seat.
In fact, however, though now much farther off than before, the Rostovs all saw Pierre--or someone extraordinarily like him--in a coachman's coat, going down the street with head bent and a serious face beside a small, beardless old man who looked like a footman.
That old man noticed a face thrust out of the carriage window gazing at them, and respectfully touching Pierre's elbow said something to him and pointed to the carriage.
Natasha's face, leaning out of the window, beamed with quizzical kindliness.
A shopkeeper with red pimples on his cheeks near the nose, and a calm, persistent, calculating expression on his plump face, hurriedly and ostentatiously approached the officer, swinging his arms.
The officer stood perplexed and his face showed indecision.
"Only fancy!" answered Ignat, surprised at the broadening grin on his face in the mirror.
Mavra Kuzminichna opened the gate and an officer of eighteen, with the round face of a Rostov, entered the yard.
Meanwhile, Mavra Kuzminichna was attentively and sympathetically examining the familiar Rostov features of the young man's face, his tattered coat and trodden-down boots.
The publican was fighting one of the smiths at the door, and when the workmen came out the smith, wrenching himself free from the tavern keeper, fell face downward on the pavement.
The lad with the turned-up sleeve gave the smith a blow in the face and cried wildly: "They're fighting us, lads!"
At that moment the first smith got up and, scratching his bruised face to make it bleed, shouted in a tearful voice: Police!
While waiting for the young man to take his place on the step Rostopchin stood frowning and rubbing his face with his hand.
His emaciated young face, disfigured by the half-shaven head, hung down hopelessly.
A vein in the young man's long thin neck swelled like a cord and went blue behind the ear, and suddenly his face flushed.
The tall youth, with a stony look on his face, and rigid and uplifted arm, stood beside Vereshchagin.
And one of the soldiers, his face all at once distorted with fury, struck Vereshchagin on the head with the blunt side of his saber.
Aren't they afraid of sinning?... said the same mob now, looking with pained distress at the dead body with its long, thin, half-severed neck and its livid face stained with blood and dust.
The count's face was white and he could not control the feverish twitching of his lower jaw.
The lunatic's solemn, gloomy face was thin and yellow, with its beard growing in uneven tufts.
The caleche flew over the ground as fast as the horses could draw it, but for a long time Count Rostopchin still heard the insane despairing screams growing fainter in the distance, while his eyes saw nothing but the astonished, frightened, bloodstained face of "the traitor" in the fur-lined coat.
He saw the frightened and then infuriated face of the dragoon who dealt the blow, the look of silent, timid reproach that boy in the fur-lined coat had turned upon him.
Kutuzov looked at Rostopchin as if, not grasping what was said to him, he was trying to read something peculiar written at that moment on the face of the man addressing him.
Kutuzov slightly shook his head and not taking his penetrating gaze from Rostopchin's face muttered softly:
His dressing gown was unfastened, his face red and distorted.
On seeing Pierre he grew confused at first, but noticing embarrassment on Pierre's face immediately grew bold and, staggering on his thin legs, advanced into the middle of the room.
His handsome face assumed a melodramatically gentle expression and he held out his hand.
There was so much good nature and nobility (in the French sense of the word) in the officer's voice, in the expression of his face and in his gestures, that Pierre, unconsciously smiling in response to the Frenchman's smile, pressed the hand held out to him.
His face grew red and was covered with perspiration.
"The Emperor," Pierre repeated, and his face suddenly became sad and embarrassed, "is the Emperor...?"
The Frenchman looked at his guilty face and smiled.
His face expressed suffering.
Ramballe, with genuine distress and sympathy in his face, went up to Pierre and bent over him.
The captain gazed intently at him as he had done when he learned that "shelter" was Unterkunft in German, and his face suddenly brightened.
Finally, the latest episode in Poland still fresh in the captain's memory, and which he narrated with rapid gestures and glowing face, was of how he had saved the life of a Pole (in general, the saving of life continually occurred in the captain's stories) and the Pole had entrusted to him his enchanting wife (parisienne de coeur) while himself entering the French service.
And as if in order not to offend Sonya and to get rid of her, she turned her face to the window, looked out in such a way that it was evident that she could not see anything, and again settled down in her former attitude.
"Do lie down," she added crossly, and buried her face in the pillow.
He was the same as ever, but the feverish color of his face, his glittering eyes rapturously turned toward her, and especially his neck, delicate as a child's, revealed by the turn-down collar of his shirt, gave him a peculiarly innocent, childlike look, such as she had never seen on him before.
At the same time he felt that above his face, above the very middle of it, some strange airy structure was being erected out of slender needles or splinters, to the sound of this whispered music.
"Oh, how oppressive this continual delirium is," thought Prince Andrew, trying to drive that face from his imagination.
But the face remained before him with the force of reality and drew nearer.
The soft whispering voice continued its rhythmic murmur, something oppressed him and stretched out, and the strange face was before him.
Her face was pale and rigid.
With a rapid but careful movement Natasha drew nearer to him on her knees and, taking his hand carefully, bent her face over it and began kissing it, just touching it lightly with her lips.
"I love you more, better than before," said Prince Andrew, lifting her face with his hand so as to look into her eyes.
Natasha's thin pale face, with its swollen lips, was more than plain--it was dreadful.
Besides his height and stoutness, and the strange morose look of suffering in his face and whole figure, the Russians stared at Pierre because they could not make out to what class he could belong.
The woman's husband, a short, round- shouldered man in the undress uniform of a civilian official, with sausage-shaped whiskers and showing under his square-set cap the hair smoothly brushed forward over his temples, with expressionless face was moving the trunks, which were placed one on another, and was dragging some garments from under them.
From the expression of his animated face the woman saw that this man might help her.
Her face struck Pierre and, hurrying along by the fence, he turned several times to look at her.
His face probably looked very terrible, for the officer said something in a whisper and four more uhlans left the ranks and placed themselves on both sides of Pierre.
And having thus demolished the young man, Anna Pavlovna turned to another group where Bilibin was talking about the Austrians: having wrinkled up his face he was evidently preparing to smooth it out again and utter one of his mots.
"Have they surrendered my ancient capital without a battle?" asked the Emperor quickly, his face suddenly flushing.
The Emperor's mild and handsome face was flushed and his eyes gleamed with resolution and anger.
"Do you know, dear boy," began the governor's wife with a serious expression on her kind little face, "that really would be the match for you: would you like me to arrange it?"
From the time Rostov entered, her face became suddenly transformed.
Nicholas looked at her face with surprise.
It was the same face he had seen before, there was the same general expression of refined, inner, spiritual labor, but now it was quite differently lit up.
As soon as she heard his voice a vivid glow kindled in her face, lighting up both her sorrow and her joy.
That pale, sad, refined face, that radiant look, those gentle graceful gestures, and especially the deep and tender sorrow expressed in all her features agitated him and evoked his sympathy.
His pale face was calm, his eyes closed, and they could see his regular breathing.
Looking at his cold face, as he sat like a stern schoolmaster who was prepared to wait awhile for an answer, Pierre felt that every instant of delay might cost him his life; but he did not know what to say.
This one, a young soldier, his face deadly pale, his shako pushed back, and his musket resting on the ground, still stood near the pit at the spot from which he had fired.
But as soon as he closed them he saw before him the dreadful face of the factory lad-- especially dreadful because of its simplicity--and the faces of the murderers, even more dreadful because of their disquiet.
This man was doing something to his legs in the darkness, and though Pierre could not see his face he felt that the man continually glanced at him.
His face, despite its fine, rounded wrinkles, had an expression of innocence and youth, his voice was pleasant and musical.
He did not sing like a trained singer who knows he is listened to, but like the birds, evidently giving vent to the sounds in the same way that one stretches oneself or walks about to get rid of stiffness, and the sounds were always high-pitched, mournful, delicate, and almost feminine, and his face at such times was very serious.
Not by a single word had Nicholas alluded to the fact that Prince Andrew's relations with Natasha might, if he recovered, be renewed, but Princess Mary saw by his face that he knew and thought of this.
That feeling was so strong at the moment of leaving Voronezh that those who saw her off, as they looked at her careworn, despairing face, felt sure she would fall ill on the journey.
There was only one expression on her agitated face when she ran into the drawing room--that of love--boundless love for him, for her, and for all that was near to the man she loved; and of pity, suffering for others, and passionate desire to give herself entirely to helping them.
Natasha's face and eyes would have to tell her all more clearly and profoundly.
On seeing his face and meeting his eyes Princess Mary's pace suddenly slackened, she felt her tears dry up and her sobs ceased.
She suddenly felt guilty and grew timid on catching the expression of his face and eyes.
When Princess Mary had left Prince Andrew she fully understood what Natasha's face had told her.
He had felt it for the first time when the shell spun like a top before him, and he looked at the fallow field, the bushes, and the sky, and knew that he was face to face with death.
Her face shone with rapturous joy.
In the middle of the room a short handsome general with a red face was dancing the trepak with much spirit and agility.
Ermolov came forward with a frown on his face and, hearing what the officer had to say, took the papers from him without a word.
A beard and mustache covered the lower part of his face, and a tangle of hair, infested with lice, curled round his head like a cap.
His eyes, prominent from the emaciation of his face, gazed inquiringly at his comrades who were paying no attention to him, and he moaned regularly and quietly.
In the corporal's changed face, in the sound of his voice, in the stirring and deafening noise of the drums, he recognized that mysterious, callous force which compelled people against their will to kill their fellow men--that force the effect of which he had witnessed during the executions.
The captain was also in marching kit, and on his cold face appeared that same it which Pierre had recognized in the corporal's words and in the roll of the drums.
From the words of his comrades who saw better than he did, he found that this was the body of a man, set upright against the palings with its face smeared with soot.
During the hour Pierre watched them they all came flowing from the different streets with one and the same desire to get on quickly; they all jostled one another, began to grow angry and to fight, white teeth gleamed, brows frowned, ever the same words of abuse flew from side to side, and all the faces bore the same swaggeringly resolute and coldly cruel expression that had struck Pierre that morning on the corporal's face when the drums were beating.
By the light of the sparks Bolkhovitinov saw Shcherbinin's youthful face as he held the candle, and the face of another man who was still asleep.
Bolkhovitinov was bespattered all over with mud and had smeared his face by wiping it with his sleeve.
On Konovnitsyn's handsome, resolute face with cheeks flushed by fever, there still remained for an instant a faraway dreamy expression remote from present affairs, but then he suddenly started and his face assumed its habitual calm and firm appearance.
He tried to say something, but his face suddenly puckered and wrinkled; he waved his arm at Toll and turned to the opposite side of the room, to the corner darkened by the icons that hung there.
That unknown quantity is the spirit of the army, that is to say, the greater or lesser readiness to fight and face danger felt by all the men composing an army, quite independently of whether they are, or are not, fighting under the command of a genius, in two--or three-line formation, with cudgels or with rifles that repeat thirty times a minute.
His thin face with its short, thick black beard looked angry.
Esaul Lovayski the Third was a tall man as straight as an arrow, pale- faced, fair-haired, with narrow light eyes and with calm self- satisfaction in his face and bearing.
"Well, I am glad to see you," Denisov interrupted him, and his face again assumed its anxious expression.
He turned his eyes rapidly from Tikhon's face to the esaul's and Denisov's, unable to make out what it all meant.
Tikhon scratched his back with one hand and his head with the other, then suddenly his whole face expanded into a beaming, foolish grin, disclosing a gap where he had lost a tooth (that was why he was called Shcherbaty--the gap-toothed).
Dolokhov answered absently, scrutinizing the face of the French drummer boy.
The blood rushed to Petya's face and he grasped his pistol.
His face, having been bathed in cold water, was all aglow, and his eyes were particularly brilliant.
Through the smoke, as he approached the gate, Petya saw Dolokhov, whose face was of a pale-greenish tint, shouting to his men.
Denisov did not reply; he rode up to Petya, dismounted, and with trembling hands turned toward himself the bloodstained, mud-bespattered face which had already gone white.
When Pierre reached the fire and heard Platon's voice enfeebled by illness, and saw his pathetic face brightly lit up by the blaze, he felt a painful prick at his heart.
Karataev continued, his face brightening more and more with a rapturous smile as if what he now had to tell contained the chief charm and the whole meaning of his story: What do you think, dear fellows?
And Pierre's soul was dimly but joyfully filled not by the story itself but by its mysterious significance: by the rapturous joy that lit up Karataev's face as he told it, and the mystic significance of that joy.
The general in charge of the stores galloped after the carriage with a red and frightened face, whipping up his skinny horse.
On his face, besides the look of joyful emotion it had worn yesterday while telling the tale of the merchant who suffered innocently, there was now an expression of quiet solemnity.
They both looked pale, and in the expression on their faces--one of them glanced timidly at Pierre-- there was something resembling what he had seen on the face of the young soldier at the execution.
She saw his face, heard his voice, repeated his words and her own, and sometimes devised other words they might have spoken.
Dunyasha, her maid, entered the room quickly and abruptly with a frightened look on her face and showing no concern for her mistress.
His face was puckered up and wet with tears.
Go, go, she... is calling... and weeping like a child and quickly shuffling on his feeble legs to a chair, he almost fell into it, covering his face with his hands.
Mummy, my precious!... she whispered incessantly, kissing her head, her hands, her face, and feeling her own irrepressible and streaming tears tickling her nose and cheeks.
Then she turned toward her daughter's face which was wincing with pain and gazed long at it.
And Natasha, embracing her, began kissing her face and hands, making Princess Mary feel shy but happy by this demonstration of her feelings.
One group of the French stood close to the road, and two of them, one of whom had his face covered with sores, were tearing a piece of raw flesh with their hands.
He puckered his face, screwed up his eyes, and pensively swayed his head.
At another spot he noticed a Russian soldier laughingly patting a Frenchman on the shoulder, saying something to him in a friendly manner, and Kutuzov with the same expression on his face again swayed his head.
"You see, brothers..." said he when the shouts had ceased... and all at once his voice and the expression of his face changed.
His face grew brighter and brighter with an old man's mild smile, which drew the corners of his lips and eyes into a cluster of wrinkles.
He's made my face all bloody, said he in a frightened whisper when the sergeant major had passed on.
Morel, wrinkling up his face, laughed too.
The same submissive, expressionless look with which he had listened to the Emperor's commands on the field of Austerlitz seven years before settled on his face now.
Suddenly he seemed to remember; a scarcely perceptible smile flashed across his puffy face, and bowing low and respectfully he took the object that lay on the salver.
"Yes," she said, looking at his altered face after he had kissed her hand, "so this is how we meet again.
He glanced once at the companion's face, saw her attentive and kindly gaze fixed on him, and, as often happens when one is talking, felt somehow that this companion in the black dress was a good, kind, excellent creature who would not hinder his conversing freely with Princess Mary.
But when he mentioned the Rostovs, Princess Mary's face expressed still greater embarrassment.
She again glanced rapidly from Pierre's face to that of the lady in the black dress and said:
Pierre looked again at the companion's pale, delicate face with its black eyes and peculiar mouth, and something near to him, long forgotten and more than sweet, looked at him from those attentive eyes.
This stern, thin, pale face that looks so much older!
But as soon as he tried to continue the conversation he had begun with Princess Mary he again glanced at Natasha, and a still-deeper flush suffused his face and a still-stronger agitation of mingled joy and fear seized his soul.
She had grown thin and pale, but that was not what made her unrecognizable; she was unrecognizable at the moment he entered because on that face whose eyes had always shone with a suppressed smile of the joy of life, now when he first entered and glanced at her there was not the least shadow of a smile: only her eyes were kindly attentive and sadly interrogative.
But Pierre's face quivering with emotion, his questions and his eager restless expression, gradually compelled her to go into details which she feared to recall for her own sake.
At that moment of emotional tenderness young Nicholas' face, which resembled his father's, affected Pierre so much that when he had kissed the boy he got up quickly, took out his handkerchief, and went to the window.
We were not an exemplary couple," he added quickly, glancing at Natasha and noticing on her face curiosity as to how he would speak of his wife, "but her death shocked me terribly.
When he ventured to glance her way again her face was cold, stern, and he fancied even contemptuous.
Suddenly Natasha bent her head, covered her face with her hands, and began to cry.
Natasha suddenly said with a mischievous smile such as Princess Mary had not seen on her face for a long time, he has somehow grown so clean, smooth, and fresh--as if he had just come out of a Russian bath; do you understand?
And the same mischievous smile lingered for a long time on her face as if it had been forgotten there.
What a good fellow he is and how attentive, and how he remembers everything," he thought, looking at Savelich's old face, "and what a pleasant smile he has!"
"And this man too," thought Pierre, looking into the face of the Chief of Police.
But what a kind, pleasant face and how he smiles as he looks at me.
He paused and rubbed his face and eyes with his hands.
Everything: her face, walk, look, and voice, was suddenly altered.
But noticing the grieved expression on Princess Mary's face she guessed the reason of that sadness and suddenly began to cry.
But instead of being greeted with pleasure as she had expected, at his first glance at her his face assumed a cold, stiff, proud expression she had not seen on it before.
Her first glance at Nicholas' face told her that he had only come to fulfill the demands of politeness, and she firmly resolved to maintain the tone in which he addressed her.
He suddenly felt sorry for her and was vaguely conscious that he might be the cause of the sadness her face expressed.
His face again resumed its former stiff and cold expression.
And remembering his former tenderness, and looking now at his kind, sorrowful face, she suddenly understood the cause of his coldness.
Nicholas! and she covered her face with her hands.
She looked down at her expanded figure and in the glass at her pale, sallow, emaciated face in which her eyes now looked larger than ever.
As she listened to it she saw before her his smooth handsome forehead, his mustache, and his whole face, as she had so often seen it in the stillness of the night when he slept.
In her face there was none of the ever-glowing animation that had formerly burned there and constituted its charm.
Now her face and body were often all that one saw, and her soul was not visible at all.
The old fire very rarely kindled in her face now.
The blood rushed to Natasha's face and her feet involuntarily moved, but she could not jump up and run out.
He made a piteous, frightened face and bent down.
A blissful bright smile was fixed on the baby's broad face with its toothless open mouth.
The storm was long since over and there was bright, joyous sunshine on Natasha's face as she gazed tenderly at her husband and child.
In Pierre's presence his face always shone with pleasure and he flushed and was breathless when Pierre spoke to him.
With a merry, smiling face Pierre was sorting his purchases.
Her face had shriveled, her upper lip had sunk in, and her eyes were dim.
After these fits of irritability her face would grow yellow, and her maids knew by infallible symptoms when Belova would again be deaf, the snuff damp, and the countess' face yellow.
At tea all sat in their accustomed places: Nicholas beside the stove at a small table where his tea was handed to him; Milka, the old gray borzoi bitch (daughter of the first Milka), with a quite gray face and large black eyes that seemed more prominent than ever, lay on the armchair beside him; Denisov, whose curly hair, mustache, and whiskers had turned half gray, sat beside countess Mary with his general's tunic unbuttoned; Pierre sat between his wife and the old countess.
His face expressed entreaty, agitation, and ecstasy.
His face darkened and he went up to the boy.
And with an eager face Nicholas began to speak of the possibility of repurchasing Otradnoe before long, and added: "Another ten years of life and I shall leave the children... in an excellent position."
What will become of us if she dies, as I always fear when her face is like that? thought he, and placing himself before the icon he began to say his evening prayers.
She had the most expressive face he had ever seen.
His searching gaze ran over her face again.
His penetrating gaze prowled over her face and pounced on her eyes.
Her face warmed as she thought of it.
She searched his face for some indication of comprehension, eventually finding it only in his voice.
Her wandering gaze came up to his face and warmth shot painfully up her neck.
He made a face and stopped his horse.
Rinsing the razor, he laid it aside and wiped his face with the towel.
She cuddled close to him and lifted her face for his affection.
His gaze dropped to her face and wandered over it.
In the morning she opened her eyes to find Destiny's face only inches away from hers.
By the expression on his face, he wasn't exactly enjoying the conversation.
Carmen turned and tipped her head back to look at the face of the man who towered over her.
He sobered, his face coloring.
Carmen felt her face growing warm.
She pulled her hand back, her face growing warmer.
His gaze traveled over her face expressionlessly as they danced away from the spot.
His gaze wandered over her face in that familiar way.
I guess I wasn't very polite, making a face like that.
Snuggling close, she lifted her face to accept his kiss.
She rolled over to face him, sliding eagerly into his embrace.
A slow smile worked its way across his face and into his eyes.
Carmen wiped Destiny's face and eyes with the cool rag and used a tissue to wipe her nose.
Remembering Dulce's face at the table, she turned, frowning up at him.
I am His gaze wandered over her face again.
His bittersweet chocolate gaze wandered over her face in search of something, or maybe he was digesting the information.
He rolled to face her, his other hand seeking her waist and drawing her close.
She opened her eyes to find his concerned face over her.
His gaze traveled over her face and then found her eyes.
His troubled gaze came back to her face, pacing from her eyes to her lips.
Her face burned hot, but his tone turned her insides cold.
Carmen shrugged, her face growing warm.
Katie made a face as she sat in the chair opposite Carmen.
Katie made a face and then winked at Carmen.
Wet auburn curls were plastered around her pale face and the back of her neck.
Wet auburn curls were plastered around her pale face and the back of her neck.
Then she looked at Zeb, whose face was blue and whose hair was pink, and gave a little laugh that sounded a bit nervous.
Dorothy had a green streak through the center of her face where the blue and yellow lights came together, and her appearance seemed to add to his fright.
Eureka rubbed her paw on her face and said in her soft, purring voice:
"If it had any bones, I ate them," replied the kitten, composedly, as it washed its face after the meal.
Jim hastened his lagging steps at this assurance of a quick relief from the dark passage.
"That will prove a barrier for some time to come," said the little man, smiling pleasantly all over his wrinkled face at the success of their stratagem.
In the forest he would be thought ungainly, because his face is stretched out and his neck is uselessly long.
He was dressed plainly, and, with his reddish-brown hair and mud-bespattered face, looked like a hard- working countryman just in from the backwoods.
Then he thought what a pretty picture might be made of his sister's sweet face and little hands.
Then with his strong face aglow in their feeble light, he made a speech in favor of a law to help poor fishermen.
"Who is that man?" asked Gautama, "and why is his face so pinched and his hair so white?
It will passively recognize you by recognizing your face or your voice or your breathing pattern or the pattern of your footsteps or, most likely, your scent.
By taking this "Absolutely no GMOs" stance they completely remove themselves from the debate and as such have no voice in the discussion about what direction to take GM: what are safe testing practices, what factors will we optimize for, and the whole host of questions that face us on this, the eve of a momentous leap forward.
So realistically, we know that we either must end war, or face the prospect that war will end us.
Every dead soldier has a face, a story, and a bereaved family.
The world will still face many challenges, which we will discuss shortly.
I felt the hot breath from the engine on my face, and the smoke and ashes almost choked us.
I used to sit in my mother's lap all day long and keep my hands on her face because it amused me to feel the motions of her lips; and I moved my lips, too, although I had forgotten what talking was.
But this puts an infinitely worse face on the matter, and suggests, beside, that probably not even the other three succeed in saving their souls, but are perchance bankrupt in a worse sense than they who fail honestly.
At length, as I leaned with my elbow on the bench one day, it ran up my clothes, and along my sleeve, and round and round the paper which held my dinner, while I kept the latter close, and dodged and played at bopeep with it; and when at last I held still a piece of cheese between my thumb and finger, it came and nibbled it, sitting in my hand, and afterward cleaned its face and paws, like a fly, and walked away.
These bubbles are from an eightieth to an eighth of an inch in diameter, very clear and beautiful, and you see your face reflected in them through the ice.
From time to time she smoothed the folds of her dress, and whenever the story produced an effect she glanced at Anna Pavlovna, at once adopted just the expression she saw on the maid of honor's face, and again relapsed into her radiant smile.
With a sudden expression of malevolence on his aged face, Adraksin shouted at Pierre:
The Governor's face expressed terror.
The doctor came out with an agitated face and said she could not enter.
Dulce handed Carmen a picture, her face a study of emotion, but her lips revealing nothing.
The cool damp cloth did wonders to get her own face back to normal and she finally regained control.
The other was the mayor, a man with a thin sallow face and narrow beard.
Alpatych turned his face to Prince Andrew, looked at him, and suddenly with a solemn gesture raised his arm.
The old man was still sitting in the ornamental garden, like a fly impassive on the face of a loved one who is dead, tapping the last on which he was making the bast shoe, and two little girls, running out from the hot house carrying in their skirts plums they had plucked from the trees there, came upon Prince Andrew.
His face seemed to have shriveled or melted; his features had grown smaller.
When she changed her position so that his left eye could see her face he calmed down, not taking his eyes off her for some seconds.
His face suddenly took on a morose expression.
"Call Andrew!" he said suddenly, and a childish, timid expression of doubt showed itself on his face as he spoke.
You keep telling me it's in the past - until you can dig it back up and throw it in my face again.