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Page "Mickey Mouse universe" ¶ 45
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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 some
She had been picked up by the Russians, questioned in connection with some pamphlets, sentenced to life imprisonment for espionage.
She gave me the names of some people who would surely help pay for the flowers and might even march up to the monument with me.
She tried to find some way to draw him out, to help him.
She experienced none of the suspense of some poor stranger selling encyclopedias.
She was forty-nine at this time, a lanky woman of breeding with an austere, narrow face which had the distinction of a steeple or some architecture that had been designed long ago for a stubborn sort of prayer.
She walked back to the house and entered, feeling herself returning, sensing some kind of opportunity in the empty building.
She made him sad some days, and he was never sure why ; ;
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 patronized Greenwich Village artists for awhile, then put some money into a Broadway show which was successful ( terrible, but successful ).
She had been moving in cafe society as Lady Diana Harrington, a name that made some of the gossip columns.
She seemed so anxious to go on the stage that some of her friends in the cocktail circuit set up a practical joke.
She teamed up with another beauty, whose name has been lost to history, and commenced with some fiddling that would have made Nero envious.
She told police about the prospective tenant she had heard quarreling with her father some weeks before the murders, but she said she thought he was from out of town because she heard him mention something about talking to his partner.
She discussed in her letters to Winslow some of the questions that came to her as she studied alone.
She might have been talking to some of her friends about her husband if they've been having any trouble ''.
She had caught him off guard, no preparation, nothing certain but that ahead lay some kind of disaster.
She put the violin away and took out some linen, needles and yarn to while away the long, idle days in Budapest.
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 looked as if she were accusing me of some fraud.
She had some amusing scandal about the Farneses in the old days.
She felt as if some dark, totally unfamiliar shape would clutch at her arm ; ;
She was wearing some sort of gray blazer.
She lived alone in the older part of the city, in one of those renovated houses whose brick facade some early settler had constructed.
She seemed to work to grow close to her son in the few days he spent at home, talking to him about some of the more pleasant moments of his childhood and then trying to talk to him about those things in which he alone was interested.

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