Heaving

Examples

• There he stood, panting and heaving, as if he had never stopped since the night, now long ago, when he had run them down before. Charles Dickens. Hard Times.
• The man sat for a minute or more with a heaving chest, fighting against his emotion. Arthur Conan Doyle. The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.
• We have all seen fence posts and bricks pushed out of place because of the heaving of the soil beneath them. Bertha M. Clark. General Science.
• The ground, heaving convulsively, hurled every one to the ground, including Maurice and his band, who were just beyond the entrance of the tunnel. Fergus Hume. The Island of Fantasy.
• The throes of a sort of moral earthquake were felt heaving under the hills of the northern counties. Charlotte Bronte. Shirley.
• Her bosom was heaving in a distressful manner that I greatly pitied, but I thought it better not to speak. Charles Dickens. Bleak House.
• For some minutes amongst the wood and leafage a rending and heaving went on. Charlotte Bronte. Villette.
• But, by and by, she was struck with an unusual heaving among the mass of people in the crowded road on which she was entering. Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell. North and South.
• And I'm so happy and so thankful, miss, cried Charley with a heaving heart, and I'll try to be such a good maid! Charles Dickens. Bleak House.
• Then it would pass, and Gerald would heave free, with white, heaving, dazzling movements. D. H. Lawrence. Women in Love .
• Heaving a long-drawn sigh, Mr. Stiggins paused for a response. Charles Dickens. The Pickwick Papers.
• A mighty influence is abroad, surging and heaving the world, as with an earthquake. Harriet Beecher Stowe. Uncle Tom's Cabin.
• A man at the bows was constantly heaving into the sea a rope to the end of which a small object was fastened. Edgar Rice Burroughs. Tarzan of the Apes.
• Both Crispin and Maurice, however, were in good health and spirits, mostly remaining on deck to watch the gray sea heaving dully under the gray sky. Fergus Hume. The Island of Fantasy.
• I don't mind it much,' returned Young Blight, heaving a sigh, as if its bitterness were past. Charles Dickens. Our Mutual Friend.

Editor: Pedro