"I just love the way the light hits the room from this spot."

He was halfway to the edge of the bush when the light hit him.

The light hit the side of the trade center and reflected in my kitchen.

The light hit the wall but wasn't going anywhere else.

His key light hit him within a few paces, but it was late.

He always seemed to know just where the light would hit him.

A light had hit me in the face, not our torch.

He ate the light and the other car hit him.

It was large enough that the light didn't hit the far wall or the ceiling.

From four directions at once, the green light hit him.