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 had offered to walk, but Pamela knew she would not feel comfortable about her child until she had personally confided her to the care of the little pink woman who chose to be called `` Auntie ''.

She must be cautious so as not to alert the scheming forest.

She had the feeling that, under the mouldering leaves, there would be the bodies of dead animals, quietly decaying and giving their soil back to the mountain.

She began it deliberately, so that none of her words would be lost on him.

She wouldn't be taking a cold shower.

She said without turning her head, `` After that rain beating in atop the dust, there isn't a thing that won't be streaked ''.

She was exposing herself to temptation which it is best to avoid where it can consistently be done.

She was certain now that it would be no harder to bear her child here in such pleasant surroundings than at home in the big white house in Haverhill.

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 has studied and observed and she is convinced that her young man is going to be endlessly enchanting.

She was wise enough to realize a man could be good company even if he did weigh too much and didn't own the mint.

She was so beautiful with her rosy mouth and haughty air that she had to be wicked.

She disciplined herself daily to do what must be done.

She added a postscript begging me to be careful about drinking.

She concluded by asking him to name another hour should this one be inconvenient.

She was told by the manservant who opened the door that his lordship was engaged on work from which he had left strict orders he was not to be disturbed.

She and her husband had formerly lived in New York, where she had many friends, but Mr. Flannagan thought the country would be safer in case of war.

She had begun to turn back toward the house, but his look caught her and she stood still, waiting there for what his expression indicated would be a serious word of farewell.

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 arrived late and as she entered the party, noted that gentlemen seemed to be in the majority ; ;

She always let it be known that there was wine in the pot roast or that the chicken had been marinated in brandy, and that Koussevitzky's second cousin was an intimate of theirs.

She was hired and was found to be entirely satisfactory when she played the role eight hours a day.