Jamie leaned against the wall, breathing in sobbing gasps, still holding the club, elbow pressed hard to his side.

His elbow pressed into the leather nap of the chair's arm.

His elbows pressed hard upon the table, and, his head between his hands, he leaned forward, staring at the commonplace figure in the easy-chair.

His elbows pressed into the wood, feeling the imprint of the rough-hewn top.

A beefy elbow in her middle pressed into her, feeling as if it would squash her in two.

Leaning forward, one elbow pressed to the table, he leered at the closed and locked door panel.

His elbow was pressing against some hard substance.

That well-aimed elbow was now pressing dangerously on his windpipe.

He leaned backward slightly in his chair, and his elbow pressed a spot on the wall.

Her elbow pressed the notecase close against her side.