Mist moved to the far corner, dread on her face.

He moved towards her, a tentative smile on his face.

The man moved toward her, on his face a gentle look of irony.

Moving, the cool night air on her face, she felt better at last.

Not a muscle moved on Death's face, because he hadn't got any.

He moved toward the door, the ghost of a relieved smile on his tired face.

As he did so, she moved away with a look of distaste on her face.

As he speaks, the camera moves in, slowly, on his face.

The man moved towards us, a look of surprise on his face.

For a moment Jo did not move, her eyes on his face.