She reached out her hand and moved toward the couple.

She turned back to him and reached out her hand.

He put down the cup and reached out his hand.

My mother made a sound and reached out her hand.

She stood up and reached out her hand for him.

I reached out a hand and took hold of his.

He looked up and reached out a hand to her.

His eyes were open, and he reached out a hand to me.

When he stood she reached out a hand for his.

No one reached out a hand or asked if he were all right.

I could offer nothing but a hand to hold and something else to think about.

She met my eyes but did not offer her hand.

I had sense enough, not to offer him my hand.

She did not offer her hand but continued to look him over.

I sat down and offered my hands to the fire.

He started to offer a hand, then let it fall back to his side.

He offered his hand again to the two men and turned to leave.

Before he could offer her his hand, she had taken it.

One of them offered his hand to help her up.

He offered his hand and helped me to my feet.

But for years we have done nothing to reach out to these men and women.

Then I should reach out to my community and the world.

So I reached out to her, and she said yes.

But he didn't understand what I was, or how to reach out to me.

But I reached out to her, and could not come.

At the same time, she needed to reach out to him.

Did I never want to reach out to another human being?

And if I were to step forward right now, reach out to you as a woman, you'd only back away.

Maybe she knew someone was after her, didn't know where to turn, and reached out to you for help.

His eyes were open, and he reached out a hand to me.