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Page "belles_lettres" ¶ 813
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She and looked
She had reached a point at which she didn't even care how she looked.
She looked around.
She looked at him, lips compressed.
She looked more like twenty-five or six.
She set the dipper on the edge of the deck, leaving it for him to stretch after it while she looked on scornfully.
She looked down at her hands, too.
She looked at him in surprise.
She looked back toward the schoolroom.
She looked at the girl speculatively from eyes which had paled with the years ; ;
She felt the look and looked back because she could not help it, seeing that he was neither as old nor as thick as she had at first believed.
She looked mighty interested, though.
She looked at him impudently over the corner of the paper.
She it was who had looked to see if I was wearing shoes upon learning that I couldn't drive.
She looked confused at this, and I felt sure it had been a wrong response for me to make.
She must have looked temptingly pretty to the dean as he put the crown on her head.
She looked at me provocatively.
She looked around, self-consciously.
She certainly looked Japanese, and perhaps she could not really blame the young men.
She looked crestfallen, as if he had somehow disappointed the whole human race.
She looked well-fed and prosperous, but he didn't get the impression he was being propositioned the way he'd been hoping.
She looked out at the corn field, the great green deep acres of it rolled out like the sea in the field beyond the whitewashed fence bordering the grounds.
She looked as if she were accusing me of some fraud.
She looked about sixty, though I recalled that the chart gave her age as forty-four.
She looked good, with her short tousled hair and no make-up.

She and up
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 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.

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