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 would return this symbol to the mountain, as one pours seed back into the soil every Spring or as ancient fertility cults demand annual human sacrifice.

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 did not pause to consider what she would do if her plan should fail ; ;

She was sure she would reach the pool by climbing, and she clung to that belief despite the increasing number of obstacles.

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 could not scream, for even if a sound could take shape within her parched mouth, who would hear, who would listen??

She had to move in some direction -- any direction that would take her away from this evil place.

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

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 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 would often go up on the roof to see the attendant take down the flag in the evening.

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

She was the only kind of Negro Laura Andrus would want around: independent, unservile, probably charging double what ordinary maids did for housework -- and doubly efficient.

She would not accept the death of such a little child.

She stood there, a large old woman, smiling at the things she would say to him in the morning, this big foolish baby of a son.

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 would rather live in danger than die of loneliness and boredom.

She would have said triumph.

She was personally sloppy, and when she had colds would blow her nose in the same handkerchief all day and keep it, soaking wet, dangling from her waist, and when she gardened she would eat dinner with dirt on her calves.

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

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 wouldn't be taking a cold shower.

She was telling herself that this might just be her reward at the end of a long meaningful search for truth.

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 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 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.