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Page "editorial" ¶ 276
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She and had
She had reached a point at which she didn't even care how she looked.
She stared at him, her eyes wide as she thought about what he had said ; ;
She had helped him change his mind.
She said, and her tone had softened until it was almost friendly.
She had picked up the quirt and was twirling it around her wrist and smiling at him.
She had offered to walk, but Pamela knew she would not feel comfortable about her child until she had personally confided her to the care of the little pink woman who chose to be called `` Auntie ''.
She seemed to have come such a long distance -- too far for her destination which had wilfully been swallowed up in the greedy gloom of the trees.
She had the feeling that, under the mouldering leaves, there would be the bodies of dead animals, quietly decaying and giving their soil back to the mountain.
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 been snared here by a vile sensuality that writhed around her throat in ever-tightening circles.
She had to escape.
She had to move in some direction -- any direction that would take her away from this evil place.
She wondered what had taken place in town, between him and his wife.
She had spent too many hours looking ahead, hoping and longing to catch even a glimpse of Dan and finding nothing but emptiness.
She had arrived this morning and come straight to the English Gardens.
She had retreated to this world.
She had touched her face, truly a noble and pure face, only with a lip salve which made her lips glisten but no redder than usual.
She had hated the whole idea before they started.
She had jumped away from his shy touch like a cat confronted by a sidewinder.
She had driven up with her husband in a convertible with Eastern license plates, although the two drivers knew nothing at the moment about that.
She might have been someone he had once loved.
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 sitting on the edge of the bed again, back in the same position where the snake had found her.
She had the opportunity that few clever women can resist, of showing her superiority in argument over a man.

She and she
She was amazingly light, and so relaxed in his arms that he wasn't even sure she was conscious.
She was carrying a quirt, and she started to raise it, then let it fall again and dangle from her wrist.
She showed her surprise by tightening the reins and moving the gelding around so that she could get a better look at his face.
She remembered little of her previous journey there with Grace, and she could but hope that her dedication to her mission would enable her to accomplish it.
She regarded them as signs that she was nearing the glen she sought, and she was glad to at last be doing something positive in her unenunciated, undefined struggle with the mountain and its darkling inhabitants.
She did not pause to consider what she would do if her plan should fail ; ;
She was sure she would reach the pool by climbing, and she clung to that belief despite the increasing number of obstacles.
She wished that she could talk to her mother about it.
She confessed she was unhappy, he asked was it her husband??
She set the dipper on the edge of the deck, leaving it for him to stretch after it while she looked on scornfully.
She quickly exploited the exalted position she now occupied, by harassing the disorganized males and even putting many of them to death.
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, too, is concerned with `` the becoming, the process of realization '', but she does not think in terms of subtle variations of spatial or temporal patterns.
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 has rarely been photographed with him and, except for Carl's seventy-fifth anniversary celebration in Chicago in 1953, she has not attended the dozens of banquets, functions, public appearances, and dinners honoring him -- all of this upon her insistence.
She read everything else she could get her hands on, including an article ( she thinks it was in the Atlantic Monthly ) by Mark Twain on `` White Slavery ''.

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