I enjoyed looking at her.

They were glad to let her.

Haven’t you ever seen her?

Well, you ought to see her.

Her head was turned to one side.

Liking that made her feel funny.

He didn’t seem to notice her much.

In the upper bunk was her husband.

But her screams are not important.

Her host looked at her incredulously.

She snapped them out with her fingers.

All her muscles are trying to get the baby born.

She had been trying to have her baby for two days.

All the old women in the camp had been helping her.

The major did not marry her in the spring, or any other time.

He liked her face because it was so jolly but he never thought about her.

It occurred to me now that I had seen her, or a picture of her, somewhere before.

“Oh, Daddy, can’t you give her something to make her stop screaming?” asked Nick.

“Well, these books are all scientific,” insisted Tom, glancing at her impatiently.

Before I could answer her eyes fastened with an awed expression on her little finger.

Ag would not come home until he had a good job and could come to New York to meet her.

I looked back at my cousin, who began to ask me questions in her low, thrilling voice.

There was a woman having a kid with a young girl holding a blanket over her and crying.

On the train from Padua to Milan they quarreled about her not being willing to come home at once.

Liz had good legs and always wore clean gingham aprons and Jim noticed that her hair was always neat behind.

“You ought to live in California⁠—” began Miss Baker, but Tom interrupted her by shifting heavily in his chair.

Her grey sun-strained eyes looked back at me with polite reciprocal curiosity out of a wan, charming, discontented face.

I told her how I had stopped off in Chicago for a day on my way East, and how a dozen people had sent their love through me.

Evidently it surprised her as much as it did me, for she yawned and with a series of rapid, deft movements stood up into the room.

She was a slender, small-breasted girl, with an erect carriage, which she accentuated by throwing her body backward at the shoulders like a young cadet.

If she saw me out of the corner of her eyes she gave no hint of it⁠—indeed, I was almost surprised into murmuring an apology for having disturbed her by coming in.

She was extended full length at her end of the divan, completely motionless, and with her chin raised a little, as if she were balancing something on it which was quite likely to fall.

She was sorry, and she knew he would probably not be able to understand, but might some day forgive her, and be grateful to her, and she expected, absolutely unexpectedly, to be married in the spring.

At any rate, Miss Baker’s lips fluttered, she nodded at me almost imperceptibly, and then quickly tipped her head back again⁠—the object she was balancing had obviously tottered a little and given her something of a fright.

To her son these words conveyed an extraordinary joy, as if it were settled the expedition were bound to take place, and the wonder to which he had looked forward, for years and years it seemed, was, after a night’s darkness and a day’s sail, within touch.

Her husband, among various physical accomplishments, had been one of the most powerful ends that ever played football at New Haven⁠—a national figure in a way, one of those men who reach such an acute limited excellence at twenty-one that everything afterward savours of anticlimax.

Her face was sad and lovely with bright things in it, bright eyes and a bright passionate mouth, but there was an excitement in her voice that men who had cared for her found difficult to forget: a singing compulsion, a whispered “Listen,” a promise that she had done gay, exciting things just a while since and that there were gay, exciting things hovering in the next hour.