She was the widow of a writer who had died in an airplane crash, and Mickie had found her a job as head of the historical section of the Treasury.

She thought again of her children, those two who had died young, before the later science which might have saved them could attach even a label to their separate malignancies.

She was still in the play for pay business when she died, a top trollop who had given the world's oldest profession one of its rare flashes of glamour.

She had quarreled with Lucien, she had resisted his demands for money -- and if she died, by the provisions of her marriage contract, Lucien would inherit legally not only the immediate sum of gold under the floorboards in the office, but later, when the war was over, her father's entire estate.

She died on August 25, most likely of typhoid fever.

She died around 1603 and is buried in the O ' Malley family tomb on Clare Island.

She had intended Newton to become a clergyman, but she died of tuberculosis when he was six years old.

She answered her accusers that she received tuition from Thomas Reid, a former barony officer who had died at the Battle of Pinkie some 30 years before and also from the Queen of the Elfhame which lay nearby.

She died broken-hearted in July of the next year, at the castle of Poissy, and was buried in the Convent of St Corentin, near Nantes.

She died in 1274, after they had three children.

She was married in 515 to Eutharic ( c. 480 – 522 ), an Ostrogoth noble of the old Amal line, who had previously been living in Visigothic Hispania, son of Widerich ( born c. 450 ), grandson of Berismund ( born c. 410 ), and great-grandson of Thorismund ( died after 400 ), King of the Ostrogoths c. 400.

She had two sons ( Roberto and an unnamed one ), but both died young.

She fought Achilles and died after he seriously wounded her.

She died in 2006 at the age of 96.

She died within a short time of the marriage ceremony and created the opportunity for Dom Pedro to escape with his true love and live in the city of Coimbra.

She told everyone that the money came from her father, who died at about the same time.

Following some success illustrating cards and booklets, Potter wrote and illustrated The Tale of Peter Rabbit publishing it first privately in 1901, and a year later as a small, three-colour illustrated book with Frederick Warne & Co. She became unofficially engaged to her editor Norman Warne in 1905 despite the disapproval of her parents, but he died suddenly a month later, of leukemia.

She died on 22 December 1943 at her home in Near Sawrey at age 77, leaving almost all her property to the National Trust.

She herself died in 1558, and in 1559 Elizabeth I reintroduced the 1552 book with a few modifications to make it acceptable to more traditionally minded worshippers, notably the inclusion of the words of administration from the 1549 Communion Service alongside those of 1552.

She died two years later.

She died in the September 11 attacks.

She died c. 352 / 3.

She died in 360.

She had three children, a daughter ( who went to live at the Dominican Abbey in Poissy in 1397 as a companion to the king's daughter, Marie ), a son Jean, and another child who died in childhood.

She was born on 5 July 1996 and she lived until the age of six, at which point she died from a progressive lung disease.

She helped him with the dishes, then he brought more water in from the spring before it got dark.

She was carrying a quirt, and she started to raise it, then let it fall again and dangle from her wrist.

She had to get away from here before this demoniac possession swallowed up the liquid of her eyes and sank into the fibers of her brain, depriving her of reason and sight.

She had to move in some direction -- any direction that would take her away from this evil place.

She yanked away from him furiously.

She sat quietly, staring at me from the wide eyes.

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

She softly let herself into the bed, and took her regular side, away from the door, where she slept better because Keith was between her and the invader.

She came from Ohio, from what she called a `` small farm '' of two hundred acres, as indeed it was to farmer-type farmers.

She was born Lilian Steichen, her parents immigrants from Luxemburg.

She was pious, too, once kneeling through the night from Holy Thursday to Good Friday, despite the protest of the nuns that this was too much for a young girl.

She ended her letter with the assurance that she considered his friendship for her daughter and herself to be an honor, from which she could not part `` without still more pain ''.

She didn't turn away from the window.

She was from Prague.

She was ready to kill the beef, dress it out, and with vegetables from her garden was going to can soup, broth, hash, and stew against the winter.

She said, `` I notice the girl from across the street hasn't bothered to phone or visit ''.

She smoothed the covers on Scotty's bed and picked things up from the floor.

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 was told by the manservant who opened the door that his lordship was engaged on work from which he had left strict orders he was not to be disturbed.

She usually wore weeds, and a stranger watching her board a train might have guessed that Mr. Pastern was dead, but Mr. Pastern was far from dead.

She turned and walked stiffly into the parlor to the dainty-legged escritoire, warped and cracked now from fifty years in an atmosphere of sea spray.

She looked at the girl speculatively from eyes which had paled with the years ; ;

She was personally sloppy, and when she had colds would blow her nose in the same handkerchief all day and keep it, soaking wet, dangling from her waist, and when she gardened she would eat dinner with dirt on her calves.