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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 with
She helped him with the dishes, then he brought more water in from the spring before it got dark.
She wiped it off with the sleeve of her coat.
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 was standing with her back to the glass door.
She raised a protesting hand with a startled air.
She cackled with mirth, showing the stumps of betel-stained teeth.
She would look at Jack, with that hidden something in her eyes, and Jack would see the Woman and become breathless and a little sick.
She said, with the solicitude of a middle-aged woman for her only child.
She munched little ginger cakes called mulatto's belly and kept her green, somewhat hypnotic eyes fixed on a light-colored male who was prancing wildly with a 5-foot king snake wrapped around his bronze neck.
She said with intense feeling: `` Come near, let me feel your arms.
She daubed at her swimming eyes with a lacy handkerchief and said with obvious emotion: `` That poor boy!!
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 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 opened the boxes with a tear in her eye and a sad smile on her face.
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 was Ellen Aldridge, a widow of good repute who was employed by Gorton's wife and lived with the family.
She had to clean the glass on the display cases in the butcher shop, help her brother scrub the cutting tables with wire brushes, mop the floors, put down new sawdust on the floors and help check the outgoing orders.
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.

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