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

She helped him with the dishes, then he brought more water in from the spring before it got dark.

She was carrying a quirt, and she started to raise it, then let it fall again and dangle from her wrist.

She saw it then, the distant derrick of the wildcat -- a test well in unexplored country.

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

She just about made me carry her upstairs and then she clung to me and wouldn't let me go.

She had surprised Hans like she had surprised me when she said she'd go, and then she surprised him again when she came back so quick like she must have, because when I came in with the snow she was there with a bottle with three white feathers on its label and Hans was holding it angrily by the throat.

She went into the living room and turned on three lamps, then back into the kitchen where she turned on the ceiling light and the switch that lit the floods on the barn, illuminating the driveway.

She then went over them thoroughly giving each a strenuous test in showmanship.

She was then trained on the trot until December 29, hitched to a breaking cart once around the half-mile track and hoppled again.

She patronized Greenwich Village artists for awhile, then put some money into a Broadway show which was successful ( terrible, but successful ).

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 retreated by leaving the room when we suggested that our meeting might well terminate right then and there.

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 Mary Lou Brew then, wide-eyed, but not naive.

She worked as a domestic, first in Newport for a year, and then in South Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, for another year.

She had assumed before then that one day he would ask her to marry him.

She was thirty-one years old then.

She walked restlessly across the room, then back to the windows.

She smoothed the skirt, sat down, then stood up and went back to the windows.

She made a face at him and then she laughed.

She threw back a cushion over one of the seats, unlocked a padlock on the chest beneath it, then presently straightened, holding a long knife and a wicked looking spear gun in her hand.

She took postgraduate work at the University of Grenoble in France and then returned to London to work on market research with an advertising firm.

She screamed wildly when she heard the " Our Father " prayer and once hurled a Bible across the room.

She was killed by lightning hurled by Windfinders while trying to kidnap Elayne.

She sat down at the table, shaking her head.

She brought the quirt down, slashing it across his cheek, and he tried to step back.

She came down against him, and he tried to break her fall.

She set down her suitcase.

She was watching a tree ride wildly down that roiling current.

She looked down at her hands, too.

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

She had stood at the bottom of the stairs, as usual, when Mrs. Coolidge came down, in the same dress that is now in the Smithsonian, to greet her guests.

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 the hips of a boy and a loose-jointed walk that reminded me of a string of beads strolling down the street.

She remembered McClellan's last proclamation as she hurried fearfully down the stairs.

She came to the ballroom and stood on the two carpeted steps that led down to it.

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 made General Burnside's horse's belly do so funny when it was upside down.

She sat down on the nearest, fallen with age and gray with sea-damp, her fingers tracing the indecipherable carved letters padded with green moss.

She stood indecisively for a moment, then walked down the hall ; ;

She sat down and played two slots at once, looking grim, as if bested by mechanical devices, and Owen felt sorry for the lay-sisters depending on her support.

She was eating bread and cheese just as fast as she possibly could, and washing it down with red wine.

She saw me and sat down beside me, three feet away.

She likens Inanna to a great storm bird who swoops down on the lesser gods and sends them fluttering off like surprised bats.

She has referenced this independence from major labels in song more than once, including " The Million You Never Made " ( Not A Pretty Girl ), which discusses the act of turning down a lucrative contract, " The Next Big Thing " ( Not So Soft ), which describes an imagined meeting with a label head-hunter who evaluates the singer based on her looks, and " Napoleon " ( Dilate ), which sympathizes sarcastically with an unnamed friend who did sign with a label.

She ends up hitting every batter at the plate ( or " beaning " them ) and goes down as the worst pitcher in history.

She asks Deckard to hunt down the " missing " sixth replicant.