She didn't move or say anything.

She had reached a point at which she didn't even care how she looked.

She didn't have the heart.

She didn't turn away from the window.

`` She didn't really say '' -- She glanced away at the floor, then swooped gracefully and picked up one of Scotty's slippers.

She was wise enough to realize a man could be good company even if he did weigh too much and didn't own the mint.

She didn't like to travel.

`` She didn't mention bringing Myra '', Mark said, maneuvering the car into the next lane.

She didn't mind working hard, not as if she figured to do anything wrong to live easy and soft -- all she wanted was a chance, where she wasn't marked as what she was.

She didn't tell anyone, even her mother, what was wrong.

The old gal stared at me with her hard eyes, said, `` She didn't call.

She said she didn't know a thing -- Tim had left the house at six in the morning, as usual.

She had held to the letter of her contract and didn't come onto the stage until well after 4 p.m., the appointed hour, although the Music at Newport people had tried to get the program underway at 3.

She didn't want to be the only one with a stove in her room, especially as her life span was nearly run out anyway, and she insisted that Hope have the heater.

She looked well-fed and prosperous, but he didn't get the impression he was being propositioned the way he'd been hoping.

Just before Myra left -- She was saying good-by to Cathy, and she didn't realize I was near ''.

She made better pictures than any book he'd read, but he didn't say so.

She didn't have a bad shape when you caught her at the pool at Longue Vue, but her bathing suits were far from smart.

She didn't look over thirteen.

She didn't even give me a chance to refuse.

She was trying to make a hole in my armor, and I didn't want it.

She didn't sound like a pale girl.

She didn't say you were puny.

She stood up, pulled the coat from her shoulders and started to slide it off, then let out a high-pitched scream and I let out a low-pitched, wobbling sound like a muffler blowing out.

She looked more like twenty-five or six.

She was like charcoal, he thought -- dark, opaque, explosive.

She had jumped away from his shy touch like a cat confronted by a sidewinder.

She wrote gay plays about the girls for family entertainments, like `` Oh, What Fun!!

She would hover over him and, looking like her brother, anxiously watch the progress of Scotty's fork or spoon.

She soared over the new pastor like an avenging angel lest he stray from the path and not know all the truth and gossip of which she was chief repository.

She held Jonathan's letter, his words burning like a brand, and knew suddenly that the bonds between them were severed.

She grasped the chair arms and brought her thin body upright, like a bird alert for flight.

She had surprised Hans like she had surprised me when she said she'd go, and then she surprised him again when she came back so quick like she must have, because when I came in with the snow she was there with a bottle with three white feathers on its label and Hans was holding it angrily by the throat.

She stood up, smoothing her hair down, straightening her clothes, feeling a thankfulness for the enveloping darkness outside, and, above everything else, for the absence of the need to answer, to respond, to be aware even of Stowey coming in or going out, and yet, now that she was beginning to cook, she glimpsed a future without him, a future alone like this, and the pain made her head writhe, and in a moment she found it hard to wait for Lucretia to come with her guests.

She is more like her full brother, Taraday Hanover, but larger.

She hesitated, she hopped, she rolled and rocked, skipped and jumped, but in some two weeks she started to pace, From that time to this she has shown steady improvement and now looks like one of the classiest things on the grounds.

She also banks into a turn like a fine runabout -- not digging in on the outside to throw passengers all over the boat like many a small cabin cruiser.

She also taught them to sing `` I wish I could shimmy like my sister Kate ''.

She was a large woman with a frizzled gray poodle cut and a pencil clamped like a bit between her teeth while she hunted and pecked on an old typewriter.

She said, `` Well, those are the really interesting things, but if you don't like any of those I can turn over some of my extra typing jobs to you, if you think you can type well enough ''.

She sounded so exactly like Doaty that Henrietta obeyed her under the clear impression that she could either comply or stay home.

She felt like a fool, too.

She looked out at the corn field, the great green deep acres of it rolled out like the sea in the field beyond the whitewashed fence bordering the grounds.

She might like to take him to St. Peter's.