My attention was riveted to that flying white sphere.

Little white spheres in the soil are cheekily called blueberries.

A white sphere on top of the red gives it extra punch.

Exposing a perfectly white sphere about the size of a golf ball, but without the little dimples.

One image was that of a white, pulsating sphere.

The white sphere that remained was colder than a comet need be.

Jayme asked, picking up a handful of the shiny white spheres.

When his responsibility for the wave of religious strife even now beginning to sweep around that blue and white sphere crushed down upon him.

The four white spheres of light had vanished instantly.

Before they could recover from this, he turned and staggered, still smoking, back toward the shiny white sphere.