At five feet, she was well out of the running.

A shot in the face would be fine and easy at eight feet.

Exactly the last thing you want to hear at 2,650 feet.

An hour or so working at 150 feet is hard work.

I put down the phone and looked at my feet.

She tried to look down at her feet, and could only just see them.

He looked at his feet as if trying to make them move.

Then the boy came forward, and sat at his feet.

She gave the body at her feet a last look.

For a moment, I felt alone with the city at my feet.