Both his arms were around the pillow.

John was leaning forward with his head on his arms.

He felt the horn go into the sand between his folded arms.

Maera lay still, his head on his arms, his face in the sand.

The picador, now on his feet, swearing and flopping his arms.

He was a blond with wide shoulders and arms like a heavyweight.

He was walking along the top of the cars slapping his arms and singing.

Manuel lay as though dead, his head on his arms, and the bull bumped him.

The gypsy bent back, drew back his arms, the banderillos pointing at the bull.

Zurito leaned forward on the barrera, leaning the weight of his body on his arms.

The youths of the cuadrillas were behind, their heavy capes furled over their arms.

He was skipping up and down in front of us, forward and back, crossing his arms every third time.

On the last afternoon before he went abroad, he sat with Daisy in his arms for a long, silent time.

Manuel stepped to the side and raised his arms, tightening the cape ahead of the bull for the veronica.

Jim came over back of her chair and stood there and she could feel him breathing and then he put his arms around her.

The two matadors stood together in front of their three peones, their capes furled over their left arms in the same fashion.

He leaned his back against the weight of his pack where it rested upright on the stump and got his arms through the shoulder straps.

Fuentes came down on his toes, arms straight out, whole body arching forward, and drove the shafts straight down as he swung his body clear of the right horn.

Fuentes, tall, flat-backed, walking toward him arrogantly, his arms spread out, the two slim, red sticks, one in each hand, held by the fingers, points straight forward.

One day she found that she liked it the way the hair was black on his arms and how white they were above the tanned line when he washed up in the washbasin outside the house.

He adjusted the pack harness around the bundle, pulling straps tight, slung the pack on his back, got his arms through the shoulder straps and took some of the pull off his shoulders by leaning his forehead against the wide band of the tump-line.

Heads up, swinging with the music, their right arms swinging free, they stepped out, crossing the sanded arena under the arc-lights, the cuadrillas opening out behind, the picadors riding after, behind came the bullring servants and the jingling mules.

Fuentes ran across the quarter of a circle as the bull charged and, as he passed running backward, stopped, swung forward, rose on his toes, arms straight out, and sunk the banderillos straight down into the tight of the big shoulder muscles as the bull missed him.

As the bull lowered his head to hook, Fuentes leaned backward, his arms came together and rose, his two hands touching, the banderillos two descending red lines, and leaning forward drove the points into the bull’s shoulder, leaning far in over the bull’s horns and pivoting on the two upright sticks, his legs tight together, his body curving to one side to let the bull pass.