The window was a crazy paving of shattered glass, milkily opaque.

I poured out some ouzo and added enough water to make it go milkily opaque.

The snow cloud drifted milkily in the unsettled air.

In the moonlight, the slate roof shines palely milkily white.

She removed them and let them swing milkily to and fro.

And the buddha: he stood still, gazing milkily down and around, .

The sun, halo-ed broadly about by its perpetual haze, shone milkily down into our classroom.

A tiny plume of blood spurts into the syringe, milkily mixing with the other fluid.

When they were wet they were milkily translucent.

Their rolling eyes gleamed milkily in the shadows, their features were grotesque masks.

There was no haze on the horizon, and no ground fog lying milkily around the legs of the billboard in the field across the way.

The bright-est thing on the dark rock was the Setebos egg still glowing milkily in his rucksack.

In the minaret, I had gazed milkily at my spittoon; but the buddha's mind had not been empty.

They were the most amazing eyes he had ever met, colored like moonstone, milkily translucent, so that thev looked al-most blind.

In time lights glimmered in the dark, a pale lantern glow coming milkily through the fogbound blackness.

The slate roof sparkles in the sun, but it sparkles milkily, vaguely, the great glass-houses put out its shining.

Ordinarily Genar-Hofoen had the suit appear milkily silver to an Affronter over most of its surface while keeping the hands and head transparent.

South of them the forest rose abruptly among sheer precipices cleft by fringed waterfalls, froth that plummeted milkily down bulwarks, of black stone.

When she cupped her hands around her faceplate she could see the tail of yet another giant comet, smeared milkily over the black dome of the sky.

The doe was not normal-a stumpish fifth leg dangled down from the center of her lower belly like a teat, waggling bonelessly to and fro when she walked, and a blind third eye peered milkily from the left side of her muzzle.

Alison was wearing her dress of feathery blue cotton, bound in at the waist, her red hair was tousled, her freckled face not darkened, illuminated rather, by the sun, her pale skin delicately, milkily, opaque and her unpainted lips the faintest purest pink.