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She was co-editor ( with Sarah Klassen ) and contributor to Poets in the Classroom, an anthology of essays about teaching poetry workshops written by members of the League of Canadian Poets.
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She and was
She was amazingly light, and so relaxed in his arms that he wasn't even sure she was conscious.
She was carrying a quirt, and she started to raise it, then let it fall again and dangle from her wrist.
She glanced around the clearing, taking in the wagon and the load of supplies and trappings scattered over the ground, the two kids, the whiteface bull that was chewing its cud just within the far reaches of the firelight.
She said, and her tone had softened until it was almost friendly.
She had picked up the quirt and was twirling it around her wrist and smiling at him.
She was quick.
She brought up her free hand to hit him, but this time he was quicker.
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 was sure she would reach the pool by climbing, and she clung to that belief despite the increasing number of obstacles.
She was bewildered.
She was standing in a thick grove.
She already knew this unwholesome, chilling atmosphere that was somehow grotesquely alive.
She was glad, completely and unselfishly glad, to see that things were working out the right way for both Sally and Dan.
She was still hugging the stained coat around her, so I said, `` Relax, let me take your things.
She was wearing nothing beneath the coat.
She was standing with her back to the glass door.
She was just not able to break the spell.
She was telling herself that this might just be her reward at the end of a long meaningful search for truth.
Meredith was irritated when the Grafin knocked at his door and told him, `` She is a great beauty!!
She confessed she was unhappy, he asked was it her husband??
She began to explain, `` There was this poet, in Italy '' He interrupted, `` Please don't judge all poets ''.
She was like charcoal, he thought -- dark, opaque, explosive.
She and co-editor
She is best remembered as a leader in the fight for women's right to vote, as a co-editor of the radical arts and politics magazine The Liberator, and as a co-founder of the Women's International League for Peace and Freedom.
She is also co-editor ( with Nan Bernstein Ratner ) of two widely-used textbooks, The Development of Language and Psycholinguistics.
She is currently co-editor of Atelos, which publishes cross-genre collaborations between poets and other artists.
She is the co-editor and contributing author of the anthology " The Friend Who Got Away: Twenty Women's True Life Tales of Friendships that Blew Up, Burned Out or Faded Away ," published in 2005 by Doubleday ( ISBN 0-385-51186-8 ).
She is a founding member of the Literary Translators ' Association of Canada and founding co-editor of Ellipse: Œuvres en traduction / Writers in Translation.
" She was a reporter, then a co-editor of the consumer publication, " The Insider's Newsletter ," formerly published by Look magazine.
She is best remembered as the wife and helpmate of Robert “ Fighting Bob ” La Follette -- a prominent Progressive Republican politician both in Wisconsin and on the national scene — and as co-editor with her husband of La Follette ’ s Weekly Magazine.
She is co-editor of My Heart Goes Swimming: New Zealand Love Poems and the Oxford Anthology of New Zealand Poetry in English, which won the Montana New Zealand Book Award for Poetry for Poetry in 1997.
She is co-editor ( with Kaitlen Clarke and Donald G. Keller ) of the fantasy anthology The Horns of Elfland, and ( with Terri Windling ) of The Essential Bordertown.
She was co-editor of the Astronomical Journal starting in 1942, and continued in this post until 1958.
She currently is co-editor in chief and anchor of Zone interdite on French TV.
She is also the co-editor, with Michael D. Ayers, of Cyberactivism: Online Activism in Theory and Practice ( 2003, Routledge ).
She co-edited the Year's Best Fantasy and Horror series from 1988 to 2008 ( with co-editor Terri Windling through 2003 ), followed by the team of Gavin Grant and Kelly Link until the series end ) She's now editing The Best Horror of the Year published by Night Shade Books.
She was the co-editor of her mother's posthumously published memoirs, Lady John Russell: A Memoir with Selections from Her Diaries and Correspondence.
She served as co-editor of the University's community newspaper Excalibur, where she led a successful campaign to secure independent funding for the student press.
She and with
She helped him with the dishes, then he brought more water in from the spring before it got dark.
She wiped it off with the sleeve of her coat.
She remembered little of her previous journey there with Grace, and she could but hope that her dedication to her mission would enable her to accomplish it.
She raised a protesting hand with a startled air.
She had touched her face, truly a noble and pure face, only with a lip salve which made her lips glisten but no redder than usual.
She cackled with mirth, showing the stumps of betel-stained teeth.
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 would look at Jack, with that hidden something in her eyes, and Jack would see the Woman and become breathless and a little sick.
She said, with the solicitude of a middle-aged woman for her only child.
She munched little ginger cakes called mulatto's belly and kept her green, somewhat hypnotic eyes fixed on a light-colored male who was prancing wildly with a 5-foot king snake wrapped around his bronze neck.
She said with intense feeling: `` Come near, let me feel your arms.
She daubed at her swimming eyes with a lacy handkerchief and said with obvious emotion: `` That poor boy!!
She, too, is concerned with `` the becoming, the process of realization '', but she does not think in terms of subtle variations of spatial or temporal patterns.
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 opened the boxes with a tear in her eye and a sad smile on her face.
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 Ellen Aldridge, a widow of good repute who was employed by Gorton's wife and lived with the family.
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 been picked up by the Russians, questioned in connection with some pamphlets, sentenced to life imprisonment for espionage.
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 had, with her own work-weary hands, put seeds in the ground, watched them sprout, bud, blossom, and get ready to bear.
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