He reached again, tore the sheer fabric of her garment from throat to thigh.

He grabbed the front of my shirt, and over my scream, I heard the fabric tear.

Then the fabric tore and her buttocks fell with a smack.

Above the huge open area where the Sardaukar were making their final stand, the fabric of the air stretched, and tore.

They/she began to shrug out of her blouse, letting the fabric tear down the front and back.

The soft, flimsy looking fabric of her jumper tore like tissue.

The fabric tore away, and Trinket ran faster still.

The fabric tore with a loud ripping sound, until it got tangled in the jacket.

The recoil kicked us against the top of the vestibule so hard I thought the fabric would tear.

If the fabric had torn, we wouldn't worry about bones.