There were a few words muttered I know not whether to a servant or himself and then the slow, clumsy turning of the doorknob.

The chief druid contin- ued the slow turning of his body.

Again the engines took up their slow turning.

Always the slow turning of the station brought some changing vista into view.

The chief druid continued the slow turning of his body.

The guards watched, unmoving but for the slow turning of their beetle heads.

I remembered the slow turning of the door handle.

The days sped by much faster than the slow turning of the wagon wheels.

Deep within one of the pits something moved, a twisting and slow turning.

Jason finally looked at me, a slow turning of his head.