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 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 looked more like twenty-five or six.

She had jumped away from his shy touch like a cat confronted by a sidewinder.

She wrote gay plays about the girls for family entertainments, like `` Oh, What Fun!!

She would hover over him and, looking like her brother, anxiously watch the progress of Scotty's fork or spoon.

She soared over the new pastor like an avenging angel lest he stray from the path and not know all the truth and gossip of which she was chief repository.

She held Jonathan's letter, his words burning like a brand, and knew suddenly that the bonds between them were severed.

She didn't like to travel.

She grasped the chair arms and brought her thin body upright, like a bird alert for flight.

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 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 is more like her full brother, Taraday Hanover, but larger.

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 also banks into a turn like a fine runabout -- not digging in on the outside to throw passengers all over the boat like many a small cabin cruiser.

She also taught them to sing `` I wish I could shimmy like my sister Kate ''.

She didn't like her stepmother, but nothing is known to have occurred shortly before the crime that could have caused such a murderous rage.

She was a large woman with a frizzled gray poodle cut and a pencil clamped like a bit between her teeth while she hunted and pecked on an old typewriter.

She said, `` Well, those are the really interesting things, but if you don't like any of those I can turn over some of my extra typing jobs to you, if you think you can type well enough ''.

She sounded so exactly like Doaty that Henrietta obeyed her under the clear impression that she could either comply or stay home.

She felt like a fool, too.

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 might like to take him to St. Peter's.