She stretched one long, white hand out toward her son.

He really couldn't see anything of the body but one limp white hand.

He reached up with a white hand to hold the hat on his head.

One white hand appeared over the top of the wall, then another.

She came back and held his big white hand in her two small brown ones.

The white hands were now running through the pages of the address book.

Minutes went by while long, white hands were at work.

For the white hands on the controls, if nothing else, he could not go.

He opened his white hands now and looked at the palms.

I looked at those large, white hands and didn't want him to touch me.