He was still in utter darkness, but his gripping fingers revealed to him that he was in a corridor between two walls.

A moment later, the gripping fingers vanished.

Like a helium balloon, but with gripping fingers, I went up to the second story.

The gripping fingers, firm as steel itself, let the hammer descend slowly.

They struggled fiercely against the great gripping fingers, but with their arms pinned to their sides, they were both quite helpless.

Blood pumped past his gripping fingers.

I felt the scars of the surgery I had done, the flexible strength of his gripping fingers.

He went down under my weight, and my gripping fingers crushed the yell in his throat.

These were not gripping fingers.

What felt like honest steel and flesh lay beneath his gripping fingers.