ramus

He seemed to have aged ten years since Ramus last saw him.

In his fifty plus years Ramus had, until recently, made no friends.

The soldier pushed open the door and pulled Ramus inside.

Ramus saw the man he had asked for water, and repeated his request.

There was little in the way of easy conversation, and yet Ramus had come to look forward to the encounters.

Here Ramus was hauled from the saddle and led inside.

Ramus felt he could step into the canvas and walk in that winter forest.

Even now the conversation that had followed was burned into Ramus's memory.

The upper ramus is longer than the lower one.

Pace wrote a similar work for Ramus as well.

Ramus felt the weight of sadness heavy upon him.

Once alone Ramus settled down in his chair and dozed for a while.

Inside there are works from the workshop of Ramus.

The pharyngeal arch is small, with a short lower ramus.

Ramus transferred his attention to the lower part of the body, lifting the heavy skirt.

Mr. Ramus, a former art dealer, knows what he is writing about.

Ramus felt a weight of sorrow on his soul.

Sometimes Ramus lay awake at night wondering just how such a ridiculous situation should have come to pass.

Ramus had never heard the Moidart laugh, nor even seen the man smile.

It was easy to see why they would think that, but Ramus was not fooled.

Ramus took hold of Maldrak's wrist, feeling for the pulse.

It baffled Ramus that such an act could produce levity.

Ramus rose from his chair, pushing shut the heavy store-room door.

Ramus was examining the dead girl's hands now, while Mulgrave held a lantern close.

Ramus had no wish to gaze down upon a battlefield, or walk among the mutilated and the dead.