It was quarter past seven, July 19, and the shadows were drawing long.
The Shadow was drawing the attack of these two bands.
The Shadow had drawn their aim in the wrong direction.
The shadows of the forest drew her to them, and she let herself be swallowed.
The Shadow drew an automatic as he entered the door.
The Shadow drew a small table into the light.
The Shadow had simply drawn back to gain needed impetus for a forward drive.
The Shadow drew back, sensing that the old man, despite his poor hearing, might have caught some sound.
The Shadow had drawn the gun just after the swing to the highway.
The shadows reached out to him and drew him close.