The children started, screamed; their faces were distorted with terror.
A blubbered and distorted face confronted her; the creature was crying.
Opening her eyes, she had seen his face–no, not his face, a ferocious stranger’s, pale, distorted, twitching with some insane, inexplicable fury.
At forty-four, Linda seemed, by contrast, a monster of flaccid and distorted senility.
Her face was horribly distorted, her lips blue.
He kept his telescopic cameras carefully aimed–glued to their moving objective; clapped on a higher power to get a close-up of the frantic and distorted face (admirable!); switched over, for half a minute, to slow motion (an exquisitely comical effect, he promised himself); listened in, meanwhile, to the blows, the groans, the wild and raving words that were being recorded on the sound-track at the edge of his film, tried the effect of a little amplification (yes, that was decidedly…