But to me he said nothing of the matter, for then, as always, his eyes looked over my head.

The eyes looked as though they had a life of their own.

He could see the woman's eyes look away from his.

His eyes looked at her, but he did not see.

Her eyes looked the question she didn't like to ask.

He was not really a young man, for even now his eyes looked very old.

His eyes looked me over like they had a life of their own?

Would other eyes look on them with her one day?

He should come again,' and her eyes looked into what was past.

Yet she wanted to see those eyes looking at her the way they had once.