Inside, he turned to the artist, with smiling lips and cold, hard eyes.

Instead she turned to me with eyes that were grey as fog.

"I'm not a child," she snapped, turning to him suddenly with eyes wide.

She lifts her head proudly and turns to him with shining eyes.

She turned slowly, looking at the room the way I had, with eyes that knew better.

He raised his head and turned towards me with clouded eyes.

And so she turned to him with eyes that really saw him for the first time in weeks.

It turned to glare at him with wide, evil eyes.

She turned to him with tearful eyes, but this time they seemed to ask for something.

But he remembered, and turned to me with bright eyes, grinning.