Piemur caught at her skirt as she made a move.

She was plucking at her skirt like a little girl.

Outside, the light had nearly faded; but the last of it fell on the old woman's hands, picking at her skirt.

She pulled twice at the girl's skirt, almost as though it were a bell cord.

A hand caught at her skirt, but she pulled free.

The child tugged at her skirt and started to cry.

She reached the bottom in safety and stood up, brushing at her skirt.

Never one to hold back on such occasions, he clutched at her skirt.

She reached down and plucked at her skirt, watching his face all the while.

Another man got up and pulled at her skirt.