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Usage examples of bookshelf.

As she read the list of risk factors associated with shoulder dystocia, Rae leaned wearily against the bookshelf.

She had little furniture, although all good stuff that had probably been begged from various relatives a John Widdicombe gateleg table with two chairs, a comfortable-looking slipcovered sofa, some reading lamps on mismatched tables, a pair of mahogany bookshelves packed tight with books, a Tabriz rug on the floor.

He lay down on his bed, and picked a book off the headpost bookshelf, part of his getting-ready-for-sleep ritual.

In the room was a narrow formica table and walls of cheap particleboard bookshelves stocked with accounting journals and tax codes and sets of law books now out of date.

In the corner a huge bookshelf stuffed with ancient leather tomes on pederasty and all things Greek towered like a massive, shadow-dripping child molester.

It was a pleasant little room, with three windows--north, west, and south--and bookshelves covered with books and scientific publications, and a broad writing-table, and, under the north window, a microscope, glass slips, minute instruments, some cultures, and scattered bottles of reagents.

The main area was whitewashed, the floor painted a dark glossy terra cotta There was a sleeping area with a brass bed and brass rails for hanging clothes, a sitting area with half a dozen beanbags and a mini stereo system, a work area with a desk, a computer and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.

All the furniture, except for the two chairs repositioned for Boris Dmitrevich and Ian Young, was ranged round the walls against the bookshelves and cupboards, leaving the centre free.

Its walls were covered with racing photographs, bookshelves, a low row of racing colors on clothes hangers, and filing cabinets.

Her bookshelves were full of anthropology texts and works by French structuralists and deconstructionists.

He surveyed the plush interior, the line of private terminals, the couches, the bookshelves, the soft lighting.

I said aloud, as I stared at stained white walls, arched windows filled with plain, not leaded, glass, and a jumble of bookshelves bursting with toys, worn picture books, wooden blocks, and boxed games.

Once, there had been a tiny table and chairs, a small chalkboard, a bookshelf, a bin filled with toys.

An ornamental bookshelf against one wall held reference works in too excellent condition.

It was a livable kind of room, with built-in bookshelves and plenty of ashtrays and not too fancy chintz covers on the chairs, a pleasant compromise between interior decorating and masculine comfort.