He looked down at the keys in his hand.

He looked at the keys in my hand, then into my eyes.

Peter had wondered as he started tapping at the keys.

On summer evenings, she would sit at the keys with her back to the open French windows.

I opened them and peered at the keys a little more.

He went back to the piano and sat looking at the keys - afraid to play.

But I look at the keys and they all just sorta run around in my head.

She pulled at the keys, twisting them right and left.

I stared at the keys in my hands and couldn't think.

I just sat on the bench and stared at the keys.