His head rested on his left arm.

Her head was turned to one side.

He rolled his head over and swallowed.

Nick sat there, his head in his hands.

She lifted his head a little and shook it.

He pulled back the blanket from the Indian’s head.

You see, Nick, babies are supposed to be born head first but sometimes they’re not.

When they fired the first volley he was sitting down in the water with his head on his knees.

Over his head was a bull’s head, stuffed by a Madrid taxidermist; on the walls were framed photographs and bullfight posters.

Nick, standing in the door of the kitchen, had a good view of the upper bunk when his father, the lamp in one hand, tipped the Indian’s head back.

Nick caught three of them with his hands and cut their heads off and skinned them while Marjorie chased with her hands in the bucket, finally caught a perch, cut its head off and skinned it.