The dog plunged from the forest as she dodged the closing screen door.
Her cheeks flushed again and in her desperate search for something to explain her preoccupation, she plunged into the subject of the curtains.
She shivered despite her lamb's wool coat, her hands plunged deep into pockets that contained weapons.
The five-year-old angel, whose appearance in her life several weeks ago plunged her into the Immortal underworld, squeezed through the cracked door.
Pierre pushed forward as fast as he could, and the farther he left Moscow behind and the deeper he plunged into that sea of troops the more was he overcome by restless agitation and a new and joyful feeling he had not experienced before.