She arduously hangs onto both boys with one hand.

She finally receives a phone call from the police and finds a suicide note, but she is so afraid of the bad news that she hangs up, assuming the worst has happened to Lorenzo.

She remained at Peabody until her retirement in 1907, and a portrait of her, painted in 1904, hangs today in the Peabody library.

She hangs up, but Louis decides to talk to her in person and heads to her house.

She discovers Clare's body, but the killer launches a crane hook into Mrs. MacHenry's head and hangs her.

She wakes up in a strange world where the Earth hangs in the sky and a headstrong prince asks her to power his god, the deity Escaflowne.

She hangs out in biker bars.

She hangs up and is startled to see the boy staring down at her from the upstairs balcony.

She hangs up her rucksack and hat and goes down the slide into the main part of Roly's house.

She tells him that everything is okay, but when Helen screams into the phone, Martha hangs up.

She goes to a pub where she drinks and hangs out with some friends.

She usually hangs around TAKESHI Headquarters to track the Makamou and rarely goes out into the field.

She remained to the last passionately devoted to the memory of her first husband and died in Paris in November 1831 where a portrait of her hangs in the Louvre.

She says she would go with him to a movie, then hangs up, and goes to sleep feeling good about herself.

She said, `` I guess the Lord looks out for fools, drunkards, and innocents ''.

She swung the quirt again, and this time he caught her wrist and pulled her out of the saddle.

She locked the ignition, removed the keys, stepped out of the car and went into the house.

She was glad, completely and unselfishly glad, to see that things were working out the right way for both Sally and Dan.

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 did not call out.

She knelt out of reverence for having read the Meditations of St. Augustine.

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

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 had taken him out of the schoolhouse and closed the school for the summer, after she saw Miss Snow crack Joel across the face with a ruler for letting a snake loose in the schoolroom.

She tried to find some way to draw him out, to help him.

She sought Kate out upstairs, her lips trembling.

She stood up, smoothing her hair down, straightening her clothes, feeling a thankfulness for the enveloping darkness outside, and, above everything else, for the absence of the need to answer, to respond, to be aware even of Stowey coming in or going out, and yet, now that she was beginning to cook, she glimpsed a future without him, a future alone like this, and the pain made her head writhe, and in a moment she found it hard to wait for Lucretia to come with her guests.

She was looking out at the garden.

She held out her hand to show that she had money.

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 wasn't quite sure that I felt enough remorse about my drinking, or that I would not return to it once I was out and on my own again.

She could easily understand why the two men had been startled to find a strange girl in the back seat of their car ( she had figured that out ), but she couldn't understand their subsequent actions.

She had it all planned out, how she'd do.

She was listening to other voices, out of the future.

She opened it an inch and poked out the keys for me to give you.

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 ate what she could and went out along the covered passageway, with the rain dripping from the vines.

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 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 cackled with mirth, showing the stumps of betel-stained teeth.

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 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.

She had, with her own work-weary hands, put seeds in the ground, watched them sprout, bud, blossom, and get ready to bear.