His fingers continued their search, slipping down under the neck of the robe.

She didn't turn to look at him as she spoke, and her fingers continued to tap.

Her fingers continued rubbing, as if she were trying to massage away a headache.

Both fingers and toe continued to insist they were there.

She did not turn around, and her fingers continued their sinuous weaving in the air.

It is as though a finger continued to live after the body had died.

Her fingers continued to grip his jacket, as if fused there.

The fingers of the mother continue to push the pap beyond nutritional needs.

His fingers continued to move on the console as he spoke.

His fingers continued to caress and trace every line, as if he couldn't stand to break contact.