The Dean looked past him as he loosened his collar.

The Dean looked at himself, sitting on the rock.

Dean looked back where his father was slowly bringing up the rear of the group.

The Dean looked at some sketches he'd made on a rock.

The Dean looked at us with a small and cheerful smile.

Dean looked expectant when I returned to the small front room.

Dean looked hurt, like I'd made some nasty remark about his cooking.

Dean looked offended, and I clapped him on the shoulder.

Dean looked in to see if I wanted him to answer.

In that moment, the door swung open, Dean looked into the room, and froze on the threshold.