So I did not notice at first what a bad turn my mother had taken.

From then on things took a turn for the better.

But he knew that another left turn would take him toward the city, if not straight to it.

A turn to the left would take me back toward home.

A turn to the right would take me toward her house again.

She pushed away from the table, took a turn around the room.

A right turn here would have taken him into Denver.

In the 14th century took a turn for the better.

Then a turn to the right took them from my sight again.

Quite where the turn takes place, though, is not easy to determine.