As if pulled by that mortal red ribbon, Mark followed.

She didn't even look back to see if Mark was following.

Mark followed his directions, through the cool night mist.

Ford and Mark followed them back across the street one day and applied for jobs.

But Mark had already followed the direction of her pointing finger.

Mark followed his mother into the kitchen, obviously on the lookout for something more to eat.

Mark had not followed this path for twenty steps before he came upon the sword.

Mark followed her to the Jeep, once more with the uneasy feeling that she was leaving something out.

Mark followed close behind as they crossed a dry creek bed and headed for home.

Undeterred, Mark followed him, after dinner, to his sanctuary in the garden.