“PORTRAIT” in italiano

A portrait of Nesta, holding the line at the Pass of Enalius.

”“We’ll see,” Cassian said, the portrait of unruffled calm.

He was waiting in the ring, the portrait of a swaggering warrior.

Rhys’s face was a portrait of smug, male pride.

Feyre and Rhys seemed to be trying not to laugh, and Azriel was the portrait of cool boredom.

The final note blasted and held, and Nesta halted with preternatural ease, taking Eris’s hand in the same movement that her back arched and she flung up her other arm, the portrait of triumph.

The projection was but a portrait of the man contained within his cuff link.

Even their gods-damned father had a portrait on the wall along one side of the grand staircase: him and Elain, smiling and happy, as they’d been before the world went to shit.

“The Harp,” he panted, his face the portrait of pain.

Past Rhys’s screaming, straining body, his face the portrait of despair and terror and pain; past grave-faced Azriel; past Cassian, gritting his teeth as he held Rhys back.

”Nesta blinked, the portrait of stupidity.