The younger nun walked a little way up the road to the next bend and stood there.

A nun walked through the door, all billowing black robes and folded hands, with the hood pulled down low to hide her face.

(The nuns have no vehicle and thus ordinarily would walk the long distance to church.)

The nun walked behind him, volunteering nothing, keeping to her prayers.

Two nuns walked toward us along the path, the black and white contours of their habits framing the view of St. Peter's in the background.

At the rising of the curtains nuns are walking to and fro in the park; some are seated on the bench around an older Sister.

The nuns rise at 5:30 and walk noiselessly into the chapel, filling it by 6:15 a.m. Six days a week their mornings begin this way.

The monks and nuns of peculiar contemplative sects walked the streets hurriedly, avoiding eye contact.

There is an extraordinary episode in which five nuns walk out onto the unfinished bridge in the dark, toward the fires of the workmen.

In pairs, the nuns from the convent walked on the promenade.