A taxi sped in from the opposite direction.

It was already dark as my taxi sped through the shadowy fringes of Ljubljana.

The driver sounded his horn furiously as the taxi sped on.

The taxi sped forward as if impelled by the jar.

Just then, a taxi sped in from Broadway, whizzing past the slowed sedan.

Amid gathering dusk, the taxi speeded toward its destination.

A few minutes later, the high-geared taxi was speeding across a bridge that spanned the East River.

There was almost no sound, just a steady velvety whirr as the taxi sped along.

It stayed two to three cars behind, but whenever the taxi turned or sped ahead of other vehicles, the green Chevrolet did the same.

While his taxi was speeding through the sunlit streets, a further consideration occurred to him.