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Page "Koo Stark" ¶ 5
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She and has
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 and one
She would return this symbol to the mountain, as one pours seed back into the soil every Spring or as ancient fertility cults demand annual human sacrifice.
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 a top horsewoman and one of the city's most gracious hostesses.
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 designed and supervised the building of the Harbert, Michigan, house, most of which was constructed by one local carpenter who carried the heavy beams singly upon his shoulder.
She entreated me to see a doctor, and when I refused, brought one out to see me.
She regretted what she described as the `` unwarrantable & unnecessary '' check to their friendship and said that she felt that they understood one another perfectly.
`` She didn't really say '' -- She glanced away at the floor, then swooped gracefully and picked up one of Scotty's slippers.
She had been one of the first to collect her wits.
She was a juicy one.
She concluded by asking him to name another hour should this one be inconvenient.
She fell asleep leaning on her hand, hearing the house creaking as though it were a living a private life of its own these two hundred years, hearing the birds rustling in their cages and the occasional whirring of wings as one of them landed on the table and walked across the newspaper to perch in the crook of her arm.
She was going to tell Bobby Joe about how mistaken she had been, but he brought one of the cousins home for supper, and all they did was talk about antelope.
She also builds one or two waxen cups which she fills with honey.
She then described her experience as one in which she first had difficulty accepting for herself a state of being in which she relinquished control.
She was the John Harvey, one of those Atlantic sea-horses that had sailed to Bari to bring beans, bombs, and bullets to the U.S. Fifteenth Air Force, to Field Marshal Montgomery's Eighth Army then racing up the calf of the boot of Italy in that early December of 1943.
She was still in the play for pay business when she died, a top trollop who had given the world's oldest profession one of its rare flashes of glamour.
She was closing and within one more bound would have been able to reach the rear end of the bay, but -- and here Jones and Loveless and Ulyate were holding breath for all they were worth -- she never quite caught up that last bound.
She sidled along the booths one step at a time.
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 had assumed before then that one day he would ask her to marry him.
She had a cup of something steaming, coffee perhaps, in one hand, a fresh piece of toast in the other.

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