She looked at Lane more directly than she had in several minutes.
In all that follows, only the two youngest of the seven children will be directly seen or heard.
Mrs. Glass directed a long and oddly comprehensive look at his profile.
He wore a frown behind his cigar, as though the stunning lighting effects had been "created" by a stage director whose taste he considered more or less suspect.
I’ll be your director if you’re going to sit there.
Her usual seating accommodation was directly at Zooey’s left.
Directly after breakfast, Mrs. Glass had stripped the doors of their pleated silk curtains.
It stood, in profile, wide open, in all its black, Steinway enormity, opposite the couch, its bench almost directly across from Franny.
There, in almost incestuously close juxtaposition, seven scrap-books of newspaper and magazine clippings had been bracketed, at the bindings, directly into the plaster.
Zooey, almost direct from the bathroom, with a lighted cigar in his mouth, stood for quite a while at the foot of the couch, at first busy tucking in the ends of a white shirt he had put on, then buttoning his cuffs, and then merely standing and looking.
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He moved an ashtray, a silver cigarette box, and a copy of Harper’s Bazaar out of the way, then directly sat down in the narrow space on the cold marble surface, facing—almost hovering over—Franny’s head and shoulders.
Franny was now facing directly into the sound of Zooey’s voice, sitting bolt upright, a wad of Kleenex clenched in one hand.
He went directly across the hall and into the room his two eldest brothers had shared.
That is, although he looked into the mirror while he lathered, he didn’t watch where his brush was moving but, instead, looked directly into his own eyes, as though his eyes were neutral territory, a no man’s land in a private war against narcissism he had been fighting since he was seven or eight years old.
A four-story private school for girls stood directly across the side street—a stolid and rather aloofly anonymous-looking building that rarely came alive till about three-thirty in the afternoon, when public-school children from Third and Second Avenues came to play jacks or stoop-ball on its stone steps.
Most of the time, they were direct carry-overs from the five undoubtedly formative years he had spent as a regular panelist on "It’s a Wise Child," when, rather than seem to flaunt his somewhat preposterous ability to quote, instantaneously and, usually, verbatim, almost anything he had ever read, or even listened to, with genuine interest, he cultivated a habit of furrowing his brow and appearing to stall for time, the way the other children on the program did.
Don’t bang the keys," Franny directed, petting Bloomberg.
) Even if a resolute and unusually stout-hearted team of painters had been able to deal with the bookcases, the walls themselves, directly behind them, might well have made any self-respecting artisan turn in his union card.