The window winked like a portal to another universe, yet it was real.
The wind-worn surfaces between offered restful shades of washed-out lime and grey, but all the way up four storeys of seaward facing rooms, the windows winked broadly at us.
Albert's dingy sink had been scoured to its original yellow colour, and the window above it gleamed and winked with unaccustomed cleanliness.
The windows, their white shutters thrown open, winked in the sunlight and sent a sparkling greeting to passersby.
The tiny numbers froze in place and the window winked.
The windows winked at her.
The windows winked blossoming white fire-flowers.
From the bent nose a glassless window winked, the opening squeezed almost shut.
By night, the windows of its sister brownstones wink with warmth and domesticity, but not the Shaft House.
Perhaps a window might wink, a door grimace; anything to prepare him for what he might discover inside.
