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 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 must be cautious so as not to alert the scheming forest.

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 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 began it deliberately, so that none of her words would be lost on him.

She wouldn't be taking a cold shower.

She was telling herself that this might just be her reward at the end of a long meaningful search for truth.

She said without turning her head, `` After that rain beating in atop the dust, there isn't a thing that won't be streaked ''.

She was exposing herself to temptation which it is best to avoid where it can consistently be done.

She was certain now that it would be no harder to bear her child here in such pleasant surroundings than at home in the big white house in Haverhill.

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 wise enough to realize a man could be good company even if he did weigh too much and didn't own the mint.

She was so beautiful with her rosy mouth and haughty air that she had to be wicked.

She disciplined herself daily to do what must be done.

She added a postscript begging me to be careful about drinking.

She concluded by asking him to name another hour should this one be inconvenient.

She was told by the manservant who opened the door that his lordship was engaged on work from which he had left strict orders he was not to be disturbed.

She and her husband had formerly lived in New York, where she had many friends, but Mr. Flannagan thought the country would be safer in case of war.

She had begun to turn back toward the house, but his look caught her and she stood still, waiting there for what his expression indicated would be a serious word of farewell.

She did this now, comfortably aware of the mist running down the windows, of the silence outside, of the dark afternoon it was getting to be.

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 arrived late and as she entered the party, noted that gentlemen seemed to be in the majority ; ;

She always let it be known that there was wine in the pot roast or that the chicken had been marinated in brandy, and that Koussevitzky's second cousin was an intimate of theirs.

She was hired and was found to be entirely satisfactory when she played the role eight hours a day.