Both strove to draw their faces down, yet that expression of pleasure reigned triumphant, overcoming the play of the facial muscles.

They glanced at each other, and each saw an angry shame in the other's eyes because of this joy.
But when they followed Martin Barnes and his assistants into the parlor, where Abrahama White was laid in state, all the shameful joy passed from their faces.

The old woman in her last bed was majestic.
The dead face was grand, compelling to other than earthly considerations.

Henry and Sylvia forgot the dead woman's little store which she had left behind her.

Sylvia leaned over her and wept; Henry's face worked.