She had a marvelous laugh, rich and warm and free.

She laughed then, a low, warm laugh, and ran her fingers through his tangled hair.

Matthew laughed, a warm laugh that lightened the pain lines in his face.

She laughed her warm, rich laugh and held him even tighter.

It was a good laugh, warm and thick like Christmas pudding.

It was a real laugh, soft and warm and kind of nice.

"I definitely miss his physical presence," she said, again with that warm laugh.

She laughed a rich, warm laugh, leaned across, and kissed him lightly.

That line got a relatively warm laugh, but many others were met with near silence.

She had a warm laugh, not forced; it just rolled out of her smooth and easy.