Peter crossed the living room and sat on the other wing chair.
I pulled the second wing chair closer and took a seat.
The woman in the wing chair let the paper fall from her lap.
She was sitting in her husband's favorite wing chair, reading a book.
She was still in the wing chair an hour later, when Jack came home.
Someone had left it on the side table next to the wing chair.
The fat one, sitting in the wing chair, spoke up.
I'd seated him on the love seat, while I was in the wing chair.
"It was very nice of you to check on me," my secretary said, getting up from the deep blue wing chair.
The designs look right at home on a wing chair.
