her造句

Stop her? Warn her?

Her parents encouraged her in her studies.

Her heart anguished within her.

Her conduct displeased her family.

Her smile masked her anger.

Her eyes mirrored her thought.

Her profile page shows her picture and her specialty — neuroscience.

WE CAN bury her, burn her, or dump her.

Her fans were stormed by her performance and her charm.

Her father thought her boyfriends were zombies.

Her skin was leathery, her hands rough.

Chat with her about her about recipes.

Her enemies were accusing her of treason.

None of her friends had deserted her.

A honk behind her.

That was her trait.

Touching her hair.

She resigned her portfolio.

Domestic details imprisoned her.

Also try holding the back of her head and stroking her temple, or hold her arm and stroke her shoulder, or her thigh and stroke her knee.

Her parents fought violently through her teens. Her fiancé dumped her and, the day after attending her high school graduation, her father walked out.

Her arm was shattered and her right hip was fractured.

Her road to peace advocacy began with her social work.

She held her head erect and her back straight.

Her book portrays her stepfather as a cruel man.

Her exercise programme has worked miracles for her.

The story stirred her sympathy.

She knew he loved her.

The needle pierced her finger.

Paul refuses to baptize her.

His claws tore her pelt as he dragged her to the her to the ground.

She was carrying a book under her arm, ie between her arm and her body.

I loved her and wanted to be with her, but I understood her reservations.

The violence of her emotion made her set her teeth, as if were, against giving way.

She smiles, and holdsout her hands, and I gently pull her out of her chair.

When I went to see her at her parliamentary office, neitherher tan, sun-bleached hair nor her bright violet dress could hide her irritation.

Each morning she would arrange her tools carefully, her chisel, her hammer, her mallet, her tape measure, her plumb line, and then she would look over the stones that she had to work with that day.

Her love for her daughters, and the rebellious spirit of her younger daughter, finally forced her to moderate her stance and allow her them to make some of their own choices.

Abruptly turning her face away, she covered her mouth with her shoulders heaved and she burst into sobs.

Her son, the legacy of a GI who'd loved her and left her was now twenty years old.

She coolly asked the agents to let her freshen her makeup before the police filmed her transfer to jail.

Each worker chooses to reveal herself or not depending on her needs, her entourage’s open-mindedness and her social environment.

She stood before him, at the end of her speech, with her teeth clenched, her cheeks flaming.

Happy tears have gathered in her eyes.

She prefers to steam her dumplings.

Her heart, hero no regrets, no pass.

The pills gave her some relief.