The men and women around her inched forward instinctively.

An old black man with a cane inched toward them, smiled and walked past.

A man inched forward and asked for a lesson in choosing mangoes.

The two men watched as the Bywntium inched into her turn.

Three men, one with a revolver, were inching forward toward the back door.

The men inside were inching the ram forward, to get a better stroke.

Then, easing onto his belly, the big man inched to the very edge.

But the man had assumed a sitting position against the tunnel wall and was inching backward.

The man with the rifle inched forward and turned a little until he felt the corner of the pillar between his shoulder blades.

The men inched toward the screen and waited for an image.