Her hand swung wildly along the floor and managed to grab the phone again.
His left hand, however, managed to keep the rifle leveled, even though he was unable to use it.
His frantic hands managed to catch hold of the framework he'd been leaning against a moment before.
When- ever she reached for food or drink, somehow their hands always managed to brush.
His third hand just managed to push the blade aside.
Her hand only managed to make uneven ink blots on the paper.
She tried to rise, managed to lift one hand.
Does this hand over the sovereign right to manage one's own treasury?
How those weary hands managed that feat, I'll never know.
She pushed back her hair with both hands, then managed to focus.
