Suddenly she bent low and fished at her skirt bottom.
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He bent low to kiss a small child on the head.
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In Joseph's version, Beyoncé crouches in a ruined fort, bent low by sadness.
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Ms. Teachout bent low — no easy task at eight months pregnant — to shake the girl's hand.
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He bent low to talk to her, asking her name, her age, whether she spoke English or Spanish.
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Both were remarkably realistic, caught in action, one with its head bent low, the other on its way forward.
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The dancers in his own company often slink like vehicles with dropped suspensions, their posture concave and their knees bent low.
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As he marched through the neck-high grasses, he bent low to hack away the undergrowth, filling the sack with manioke, a local root vegetable.
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Biathlon's Shadow The cross-country skiers sweep downhill through a mist of seemingly perpetual snow, their knees bent low, heads pointed forward like the prows of ships.
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Hitler bent low over the table so that he could get a better view of the map, resting his chin on his hand, his elbow on the tabletop.
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As Erie stands beside his new hope, the Night Clerk, while bent low, internally, by grief, Whitaker may remind you of Charles Laughton, another actor who was uncertain in his body and made a style out of trying to mask it, too. ♦
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Roll, p. 87."Bruma ", Seasonal Festivals of the Greeks and Romans Pliny the Elder, Natural History, 18:59 A late fourth-century sermon by Saint Augustine explains why this was a fitting day to celebrate Christ's nativity: "Hence it is that He was born on the day which is the shortest in our earthly reckoning and from which subsequent days begin to increase in length. He, therefore, who bent low and lifted us up chose the shortest day, yet the one whence light begins to increase."Augustine, Sermon 192 .
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They quickly hit it off, as Temple recounted years later: > Robinson walked a step ahead of us, but when he noticed me hurrying to catch > up, he shortened his stride to accommodate mine. I kept reaching up for his > hand, but he hadn't looked down and seemed unaware. Fannie called his > attention to what I was doing, so he stopped short, bent low over me, his > eyes wide and rows of brilliant teeth showing in a wide smile. When he took > my hand in his, it felt large and cool.
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The text of the poem, as published in the Australian Town and Country Journal, is as follows: A cloud of dust on the long white road ; And the teams go creeping on, Inch by inch with the weary load ; And by the power of the green-hide goad The distant goal is won. With eyes half-shut from the blinding dust, And necks to the yokes bent low, The beasts are pulling as bullocks must, Till the shining rims of the tire-rings rust ; While the spokes are turning slow. With face half hid 'neath a wide brimm'd hat That shades from the heat's white waves, And shoulder'd whip with its green-hide plat, The driver plods with a gait like that Of his weary, patient slaves. He wipes his brow, for the day is hot, And spits to the left with spite ; He shouts at "Balley," and flicks at " Scot," And raises dust from the back of " Spot," And spits to the dusty right.
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