She has shared her husband's greatness, but only within the confines of their home ; ;

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 has small, broad, capable hands and an enormous energy.

She has studied and observed and she is convinced that her young man is going to be endlessly enchanting.

She has the small, highly developed body of a prime athlete, and holds in contempt the `` girls who just move sex ''.

She has a pretty bad cold ''.

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 has been acting as a prostitute.

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

`` She says she has to finish a story ''.

She gave a fine portrayal of Auntie Mame on Broadway in 1958 and has appeared in live television from `` Captain Brassbound's Conversion '' to `` Camille ''.

She has to have at least one car herself.

She is the most beautiful thing you ever laid eyes on, and her dancing has a feminine suavity, lightness, sparkle, and refinement which are simply incomparable.

) She has since turned to Bellini, whose opera `` Beatrice Di Tenda '' in a concert version with the American Opera Society introduced her to New York last season.

She has a good, firm delivery of songs and adds to the solid virtues of the evening.

She is just home from a sojourn in London where she has become the sweetheart of a young fellow named Ronnie ( we never do see him ) and has been subjected to a first course in thinking and appreciating, including a dose of good British socialism.

She also has a habit of constantly changing her hairstyle, and in every appearance by her much is made of the clothes and hats she wears.

She has a maid called Maria who prevents the public adoration from becoming too much of a burden on her employer, but does nothing to prevent her from becoming too much of a burden on others.

She has authored over fifty-six novels and she has a great dislike of people taking and modifying her story characters.

" She first met Poirot in the story Cards on the Table and has been bothering him ever since.

She also has a remarkable ability to latch onto a casual comment and connect it to the case at hand.

She can place the letter in an envelope lined with carbon paper and send it to Bob.

She invested a considerable amount of money into a show that traveled the country as part of a large fair ; but her fans who had lined up to buy tickets at the Moulin Rouge did not take to the new setting, and her business venture turned into a dismal failure.

She had a series of films lined up: She went to Flagstaff, Arizona for location work on The Wilderness Trail, another western, this time with Tom Mix.

She also wears a long coat lined with ballistic nylon and Kevlar, the inside lining holding a vast arsenal of weapons.

She is now back on the line, in lined out BR green, and used alternately with Greenbat.

She lined up next for the Irish Champion Stakes in a rematch with Alexander Goldrun from Goodwood, and the additional threat of Dylan Thomas, the Budweiser Irish Derby winner, coming from the formidable trio of Magnier, Aidan O ' Brien and Fallon.

She attempts to escape into her coffin, but finds that Charley has lined it with Communion wafers.

She was being held because her abdomen was noticeably swollen ( she claimed to be pregnant ), and a search of her body had revealed that she was wearing two pairs of elastic underpants and had lined her crotch area with paper towels.

She rubbed her eyes and stretched, then sat up, her hands going to her hair.

She had picked up the quirt and was twirling it around her wrist and smiling at him.

She brought up her free hand to hit him, but this time he was quicker.

She finally regained her balance and got up in the saddle.

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 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 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 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 pulled her legs up under her, to rise, her full peasant skirt drawing up her thighs, and Feathertop's music pfffted away.

She would often go up on the roof to see the attendant take down the flag in the evening.

She looked up and saw that, without knowing it, Mrs. Coolidge was holding it aloft.

She had been picked up by the Russians, questioned in connection with some pamphlets, sentenced to life imprisonment for espionage.

She escaped, crawled through the usual mine fields, under barbed wire, was shot at, swam a river, and we finally picked her up in Linz.

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 smoothed the covers on Scotty's bed and picked things up from the floor.

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

She lost not a second, picking herself up and continuing her pilgrimage to Laura.

She was taken up in worry for the reckless old man.

She sprang up and went swiftly to the bedroom.

She swung her eyes up to the blue of the window, her jaws gently mashing the bitter beans.

She enjoyed great parties when she would sit up talking and dancing and drinking all night, but it always seemed to her that being alone, especially alone in her house, was the realest part of life.

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 had felt that her arm wanted to go up in the first trial, but had consciously prevented it from so doing.