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 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 told police about the prospective tenant she had heard quarreling with her father some weeks before the murders, but she said she thought he was from out of town because she heard him mention something about talking to his partner.

She eyed the chickens with, if she had known it, something of Glendora's dismal look and thought with a certain fury of the time she had spent on Latin verbs.

She had a cup of something steaming, coffee perhaps, in one hand, a fresh piece of toast in the other.

She found herself wishing an old wish, that she had told Doaty she was running away, that she had left something more behind her than the loving, sorry note and her best garnet pin.

She had explained it -- something about summer people's eating out and not enough space in the units.

She was talking about him that time, because he had done some bad thing, something she disliked, but `` Afterwards Martin said he was sorry.

She had earlier told the House of Commons that if she had been aware of such facts she would have done something about it.

She wrote, " Fleury is much less benign than Bouguereau and don't temper his severities … he hinted of possibilities before me and as he rose said the nicest thing of all, ' we will do all we can to help you '… I want these men … to know me and recognize that I can do something.

She proposed an alliance, something which she had refused to do when offered one by Feodor's father, but was turned down.

She described his Mr Hyde-like change into a growling, uncontrollable beast as something out of a horror movie.

She paid very close attention to the details, something she had always done in her husband's life.

" She went on to put forward the idea that this typically confirmed " some original, private experience, so that the most common experience of those who have named themselves pagan is something like ' I finally found a group that has the same religious perceptions I always had '.

She went on to remark that she had encountered pagans in jobs that ranged from " fireman to Ph. D. chemist " but that the one thing that she thought made them into an " elite " was as avid readers, something that she found to be very common within the pagan community despite the fact that avid readers constituted less than 20 % of the general population of the United States at the time.

" She further held that to be is to be something, that " existence is identity.

She was so true, so sure of me ; and I felt I had something to live for, someone I must not disappoint.

She tells Lisa, " There has to be more life than just what we see, everyone needs something to believe in.

She also commented that she once saw a woman in her audience dressed in dripping chiffon with a Gibson Girl hairstyle and big boots and Nicks knew she wanted something similar.

" She further noted that " a lot of the time the creationists ... they'll search through scientific journals and try to pull out something they think demonstrates evolution doesn't work and there is a kind of interesting rationale behind it.

She believes that if something is rhetorical, then there will be action.

She said later that the war had depressed her and she had wanted to write something naïve and innocent.

She was determined to be something in life.

Beginning in the 1940s, She became something of an art collector.

She had not confessed her guilt, something that the Chinese press has emphasized to show her bad attitude.