Mrs. Bines, stooping, took the limp and wide-eyed Paul up in her arms.
The face, neck, and arms of the modest maiden were flushed with indignant crimson.
She put her arms about her neck, and affectionately inquired the cause of her distress.
It always feels like you—like your arms, Mtterchen—and I am tired.
My arms have starved for you so—do you think they're going to loosen ...