Mark turned to Ford and held up his open cell phone.

Thrasher left the table for a moment, and Mark turned to me.

Mark turned and looked at me for the first time.

Mark turned his head and tried to kiss her on the lips.

But now Mark had turned his head and was looking at his son.

Mark turned his own animal and rode it slowly back.

Mark turned his face away, almost submissive action, and for one bright moment I had hope.

Mark turned from them, and sat staring at the sword.

To avoid them, Mark turned a corner, toward more music.

Mark turned, about to say something, but his mind seemed a riot of images.