half-turning

I kept hearing voices today that sounded like Vixy's or Cat's or Dmitri's or Lee's, half-turning, and no, all scattered.

Am home, for most values of home. 2009

Gingerly, the jazz musician approached the churn; in a twinkling, turning it over with the rake and, matador-like, now, half-turning, deftly, as the squirrel shot past him into the boxwoods.

Elizabeth Boleman-Herring: The Squirrel Amongst the Razors in Occam's Butter Churn Elizabeth Boleman-Herring 2012

Gingerly, the jazz musician approached the churn; in a twinkling, turning it over with the rake and, matador-like, now, half-turning, deftly, as the squirrel shot past him into the boxwoods.

Elizabeth Boleman-Herring: The Squirrel Amongst the Razors in Occam's Butter Churn Elizabeth Boleman-Herring 2012

“Hey,” he says, half-turning toward me, and the light that is supposed to shine out onto the backyard and highlight potential burglars or the grass or whatever is only there for him right now, is only shining on him, and he is gorgeous and I kissed him.

The Unwritten Rule Elizabeth Scott 2010

Now to hear them is to think inevitably of the Dramatic Chipmunk half-turning to look at the camera over his chipmunky shoulder, eyes wild.

Archive 2010-01-01 Adam Roberts 2010

“Hey,” he says, half-turning toward me, and the light that is supposed to shine out onto the backyard and highlight potential burglars or the grass or whatever is only there for him right now, is only shining on him, and he is gorgeous and I kissed him.

The Unwritten Rule Elizabeth Scott 2010

She laughed, good-naturedly, half-turning to Sturyk.

Cadmian's Choice Modesitt, L. E. 2006

She wiggled it, wagged it, and rolled it before straightening and half-turning to face the crowd.

Good Girl Gone Bad Karin Tabke 2006

Ava and I huddled together in our pale spring lace, two maids lost in a postmodern wood, she moving forward, me half-turning toward the demon who silently howled at us with her great gold eyes, her genital mouth and long flawless claws with just a hint of anguish in their swollen knuckles.

Archive 2005-11-01 Jenny Davidson 2005

Ava and I huddled together in our pale spring lace, two maids lost in a postmodern wood, she moving forward, me half-turning toward the demon who silently howled at us with her great gold eyes, her genital mouth and long flawless claws with just a hint of anguish in their swollen knuckles.

Chartreuse Jenny Davidson 2005