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She and would
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 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 and hover
She can even hover in midair by releasing controlled bursts of kinetic energy beneath her.

She and over
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 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 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.

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