One by one the doors burst open till all four flapped wildly and the car swooped downwards looking like a huge, ungainly bird.

More police cars swooped into the area, one passing left to right on the main.

But we were novices at campsite takeover etiquette: another car swooped in and started a two-pronged attack on the same site: a woman lurked at the front of the tent, her partner staked out the back.

The cars finally made a great curve and swooped into a tunnel.

The big car drove straight out under the gate and swooped right without pausing and accelerated away down the road.

The car swooped low and the sounds of the few rides still operating came more clearly through the open window.

The car swooped violently, then steadied and shot straight into the center of the cut.

The cars swooped after it like a flock of geese, following it over the four-hundred-foot cliff that separated Alpha Plateau from Beta Plateau, where forests of fruit trees alternated with fields of grain and vegetables and meadows where cattle gazed.

Down from an old approaching road swooped a high-speed car, a shiny, glistening roadster that looked like a gleaming arrow against the brilliance of the lowering sun.

The car now swooped almost to the ground; he had to jerk the wheel toward him to avoid a crash.