Now old Patty's cheeks looked like his kitchen stove through its little isinglass windows on a cold winter night.

Smooth the cheeks, and suddenly the ear lobes and hands look out of place.

"My name is Iliescu," he said, his cheeks looking more sunken than ever.

My cheek looked that way for a reason.

My cheeks looked as if I were sucking them in.

My cheeks, which had been burning with anger, now looked pallid and lifeless.

His delicate cheeks looked even more scorched than before.

One cheek looked like it had been used long ago as a dart board.

Her tear-stained cheeks and red eyes looked adorable to him at this moment.

"Well," I say quietly, "you should see what his cheek looks like."