He couldn't hold on with his hands, couldn't make a fist.

My fist almost made it to the floor.

The fist made a solid thud as it hit Conan's stomach.

Two days on and Chib's fist was still making its presence felt.

The guard turned, and Kirk's fist made solid contact with his face.

His fist made a drumming sound as he slammed it on the desk.

Overhead was the clear mark his fist had made in the soft plaster of the ceiling.

His fists had gone mad and were making the whole carriage bloody.

The clenched fist hit the ta-bletop and made the dishes dance.

"I'll bet them fists make a hot fire," another said, playing wise-cracking tough.