Her face changed with each turn of their talk, like a wheat-field under a summer breeze
Her face collapsed as if it were a pricked balloon
Her face was as solemn as a mask
Her face was dull as lead
Her face was like a light
Her face was passionless, like those by sculptor graved for niches in a temple
Her hair dropped on her pallid cheeks, like sea-weed on a clam
Her hair hung down like summer twilight
Her hair shone like a nimbus
Her hair was like a coronet