His little hands tore free of the hair, and he fell into the night.

A second or two and that hand would tear away whatever it held.

The hands tore the paper into fragments, a name on each piece.

He felt as if a giant hand had torn him apart.

Her hands below the surface of the water were tearing at their Mom clothing.

One hand tore across his forehead, opening a long cut there.

Another hand caught hold of her blouse and tore it half off.

A hand came out of the darkness on his left and tore at Jack's ear.

Her hands scrabbled and tore at him, but all he did was close his eyes.

Her hands could not tear a way through that.