itchily

He handed the data disk across at last; Miles's hand closed over it itchily.

Turk could see the exporter's fingers move itchily toward the bonds.

He turned away and gathered up their books and the rug, leaving Beth itchily dissatisfied.

Feeling the sweat running itchily under his corselet, Scaurus began to wonder if he'd missed it.

But the others were shifting itchily as they walked, and Mallory realized that they looked to him to do the deed.

Music called the song "itchily irresistible".

A warm wetness, rapidly cooling, trickled itchily down Miles's upper lip and three-day moustache stubble.

Itchily, Lubber fingered the envelope.

His strength returned, Orvel lifted his hands itchily, as though they, of themselves, were recalling a task they had failed to perform.

Leonard McCoy scratched at the six-week growth of whiskers that was slowly and itchily becoming a beard.

It felt as if Ms. DeGeneres were living comfortably in her own skin rather than wrapping herself itchily in ours.

Eachuinn Odhar muttered, scratching itchily and irritably at the newly pink scalp gleaming through his newly white hair, 'different isn't aye better!'

He became aware that sweat was pouring down his face, that his nose was itchily dribbling blood, and that he harbored a raging thirst.

On the first of New Moon he led a small caravan out of the ceremonial gate of the citadel, itchily anticipating the transition from reality to marvel.

The top note in Low's musical perfume comes from the itchily close harmonies of Ms. Parker and Mr. Sparhawk, whose falsetto often melted into his wife's soprano.

With "City of Churches" (1973) by Donald Barthelme, pretty much the sole representative of the surreal absurd, the hole drops into a shape-changing fun house that is no fun at all except, itchily, for the reader.

In the tight environment of their pensione, which was as close to them and sometimes as itchily intrusive as a hair shirt, they had not announced any engagement and they kept their separate tables, but their attachment must have been clear.

With my back against the stout trunk of an oak tree I crouched still, hoping that my green anorak was blending nicely with the surround, and trying to ignore the gnats which promptly and itchily invaded my scalp.