Put the shot

Usage examples of heave.

By then she was far out on the heaving grey sea, with low-pitched grumbling on her benches, and prayers to Lord Aegir and the Thunderer.

He was interrupted by a heaving shock that made the underground dome dwelling shake like a light airboat in turbulence.

He half led, half carried her there, where an aircraftman was just heaving the second last parachute and container through the doorway.

Behind Torrance-Smythe two young aircraftmen stood ready to slide packaged equipment and parachutes along the wire and heave them out as swiftly as possible after the last man had jumped.

She began to cry, laying her face in her crossed arms, the tears gushing, her whole frame aquiver, and heaving great sobs.

When it reached the former anchorage of the Atlantean vessel, it heaved to, and a boat was lowered.

We sprinted back and forth with our bundles, and Geoff and Martin heaved them over the fence.

She handed the book to Balt, who unceremoniously heaved it into the pit.

My body was heaving, but I could feel Betsey holding on to me, holding me tight, refusing to let go.

A gout of fire bloomed in the heaving mass of rats, blackening and roasting scores of the creatures.

Mountain ranges heave air upward, and then drop it like bobsleds down their far slopes.

Carefully she climbed, and when she heaved herself over the lip, she lay there for the space of several breaths, stunned by the change in the air and the coursing exultation that freedom sent through her body.

Stephen had had plenty of time to reflect upon the trifling interval between the perception of a grateful odour and active salivation and to make a variety of experiments, checked by his austerely beautiful and accurate Breguet repeater, before the door burst open and the Commodore strode in, sure-footed on the heaving deck and scattering seawater in most directions.

He left the verandah and came over to where I was standing by poor old Bronzewing, whose wide-spread nostrils and heaving flanks were good evidence as to the pace at which he had lately been compelled to travel.

David Zielinsky walked out of the Theatrical and onto Short Vincent, left onto East Sixth, right onto Euclid Avenue, heading to Terminal Tower, where he intended to take the streetcar home, heave rubber-banded newspapers onto stoops all over Old Brooklyn, eat the dinner Aunt Betty would serve, and after that meet up with his buddies and see if that redheaded lifeguard was still over at Brookside, if she even existed, and be home by dark.