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 stumbled over the root of a tree that protruded maliciously above the earth.

She had the opportunity that few clever women can resist, of showing her superiority in argument over a man.

She could not resist the opportunity `` of showing her superiority in argument over a man '' which she had remarked as one of the `` feminine follies '' of Sara Sullam ; ;

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 stood still over the leg of lamb, rubbing herbs into it, quite suddenly conscious of a nausea in her stomach and a feeling of wrath, a sensation of violence that started her shivering.

She looked at him impudently over the corner of the paper.

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

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 would try to see over the bulge of her cheeks and somewhat under her teeth to the place where she was biting.

She had quarreled with Lucien, she had resisted his demands for money -- and if she died, by the provisions of her marriage contract, Lucien would inherit legally not only the immediate sum of gold under the floorboards in the office, but later, when the war was over, her father's entire estate.

She stood for a moment, rain dripping from the trees over her head, thinking of Maude.

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 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 started to move away, just as a woman came out of the cottage, a big-boned, drab-haired figure with a clean apron tied over her limp print dress.

She hesitated, as though hunting over words and ways of putting them.

She didn't look over thirteen.

She might peel him, once the worst of the agony was over.

She never replied and the courtship was over.

She has authored over fifty-six novels and she has a great dislike of people taking and modifying her story characters.

She lost control over Nero when he began to have an affair with the freedwoman Claudia Acte, which Agrippina strongly disapproved of and violently scolded him for.

She watched over the development of her son's character and improved the tone of the administration.

She arranged for Alexander to marry Sallustia Orbiana, the daughter of a noble Patrician family, but grew so jealous of Sallustia ’ s influence over her son that she had her banished from court.

She married Basil of Trebizond and took over the throne of the Empire of Trebizond from 1340 to 1341.