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 would return this symbol to the mountain, as one pours seed back into the soil every Spring or as ancient fertility cults demand annual human sacrifice.

She began to watch a blonde-haired man, also in shorts, standing right at the rear of the wrecked car in the one spot that most of the crowd had detoured slightly.

She was a top horsewoman and one of the city's most gracious hostesses.

She could not resist the opportunity `` of showing her superiority in argument over a man '' which she had remarked as one of the `` feminine follies '' of Sara Sullam ; ;

She designed and supervised the building of the Harbert, Michigan, house, most of which was constructed by one local carpenter who carried the heavy beams singly upon his shoulder.

She entreated me to see a doctor, and when I refused, brought one out to see me.

She regretted what she described as the `` unwarrantable & unnecessary '' check to their friendship and said that she felt that they understood one another perfectly.

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

She had been one of the first to collect her wits.

She was a juicy one.

She concluded by asking him to name another hour should this one be inconvenient.

She fell asleep leaning on her hand, hearing the house creaking as though it were a living a private life of its own these two hundred years, hearing the birds rustling in their cages and the occasional whirring of wings as one of them landed on the table and walked across the newspaper to perch in the crook of her arm.

She was going to tell Bobby Joe about how mistaken she had been, but he brought one of the cousins home for supper, and all they did was talk about antelope.

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 builds one or two waxen cups which she fills with honey.

She then described her experience as one in which she first had difficulty accepting for herself a state of being in which she relinquished control.

She was the John Harvey, one of those Atlantic sea-horses that had sailed to Bari to bring beans, bombs, and bullets to the U.S. Fifteenth Air Force, to Field Marshal Montgomery's Eighth Army then racing up the calf of the boot of Italy in that early December of 1943.

She replied, `` I know of one man that has not been friendly with him.

She was closing and within one more bound would have been able to reach the rear end of the bay, but -- and here Jones and Loveless and Ulyate were holding breath for all they were worth -- she never quite caught up that last bound.

She sidled along the booths one step at a time.

She had swished away, she had been gone for a long time probably when Sarah suddenly realized that she ought to stop her, pour out the coffee, so no one would drink it.

She had assumed before then that one day he would ask her to marry him.

She had a cup of something steaming, coffee perhaps, in one hand, a fresh piece of toast in the other.