Clutching
[klʌtʃɪŋ]
Definition
(p. pr. & vb. n.) of Clutch
Editor: Rudolf
Examples
- You seem to be clutching at the void--and at the same time you are void yourself. D. H. Lawrence. Women in Love .
- Well, sir,' observed Venus, after clutching at his dusty hair, to brighten his ideas, 'let us put it another way. Charles Dickens. Our Mutual Friend.
- But it seemed to him, woman was always so horrible and clutching, she had such a lust for possession, a greed of self-importance in love. D. H. Lawrence. Women in Love .
- That about-- _Nancy_,' said Fagin, clutching Sikes by the wrist, as if to prevent his leaving the house before he had heard enough. Charles Dickens. Oliver Twist.
- Oh, don't leave me--don't leave me, Goodwin,' murmured Mrs. Pott, clutching at the wrist of the said Goodwin with an hysteric jerk. Charles Dickens. The Pickwick Papers.
- So little Tarzan wriggled out from beneath the struggling mass, clutching his grisly prize close to his breast. Edgar Rice Burroughs. Tarzan of the Apes.
- But I am more than a lad,' said Bradley, with his clutching hand, 'and I WILL be heard, sir. Charles Dickens. Our Mutual Friend.
- I go, retorted the Greek fiercely, retreating before Crispin, and clutching the curtains. Fergus Hume. The Island of Fantasy.
- The bedroom where the clutching old man had lost his grip on life, was left as he had left it. Charles Dickens. Our Mutual Friend.
- My overstrung nerves failed me suddenly, and I turned and ran--ran as though some dreadful hand were behind me clutching at the skirt of my dress. Arthur Conan Doyle. The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.
- Then, clutching it in his hand, he vanished through a door-way. Arthur Conan Doyle. The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes.
- The merging, the clutching, the mingling of love was become madly abhorrent to him. D. H. Lawrence. Women in Love .
- The pirate's hissing, Die, cursed thern, was half choked in his windpipe by my clutching fingers. Edgar Rice Burroughs. The Gods of Mars.
- I burst out laughing, out of sympathy with her merriment; but Grant Munro stood staring, with his hand clutching his throat. Arthur Conan Doyle. The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes.
Editor: Rudolf