Eavesdropping on the tête-à-tête between mother and daughter, I stayed put and waited with bated breath in the dark.

Now, on the threshold of adulthood, I have come to see that life is not always what you want it to be.

He smokes like a chimney every day.

Windy was more than windy; she was tempestuous.

Song’s pain getting severer, his face twisted into a grimace.

The sky was azure and the clouds white.

“Don’t cry, son,” Mother said comfortingly. “You are no longer a child, are you?”

Miss Tee was a woman, yet there was not a single vestige of shame on her face throughout.

The poor creature, trapped in the constant traffic flow, seemed to be shocked and shaking.

Jack is the apple of my aunt’s eye, but she has spoiled her son.