She handed him the wine bottle.
He sipped his wine, eyes on her.
She cleared her throat, staring into the wine glass.
A couple of wing-backed chairs and sofa sank luxuriously into that thick wine carpet, but what caught her full attention was the wide curving staircase.
After introductions we gathered around the oak table to get acquainted as more beer and wine flowed.
He played along with her banter but it was interesting to see he was savoring everything she said like the good wine we were sharing.
At the allotted hour, Betsy and I were finishing a bottle of wine when the phone rang.
Everyone was tired so after perfunctory greetings over a single glass of wine for those of us drinking, we retreated to our sleeping quarters.
We agreed the tests were finished for the day but mellowed by wine; we spent two more evening hours summarizing our findings.
I changed the subject and opened one of the bottles of wine we'd brought from New York.
Quinn returned with a tray, glasses, beer and a bottle of wine, looking somewhat apologetic.
Our nervous quintet settled in, ordered wine for the drinkers and waited for one of us to start the conversation.
Celebratory cigars and wine came out and all other business suffered from total indifference.
Back roads, wine country, the Erie Canal.
We adults passed banalities back and forth while Howie opened wine, of an obvious expensive vintage us Gustefsons only admired.
Howie immediately began asking who needed more wine though our glasses were full.
He brought wine and we had an okay time.
There were a half dozen messages from both Julie and Howie from California but in view of our frenzied day, decided to let them simmer until after a much relished glass or two of wine and Molly's carefully grilled hot dogs and cheese bread.
I poured us a second glass of wine as Betsy leaned back and closed her eyes, finally relaxing.
Betsy loved reveled in it and it fulfilled my needs; the wine did the trick and, I was hungry and the food tasted good.
He was down in the wine cellar.
She took in his wounds again, unable to fathom why her father would chain him to the wall in their wine cellar.
She returned with it to the wine cellar and pushed the door open.
As she crept up the stairs of the wine cellar to the kitchen, she couldn't help feeling troubled at leaving the man in the basement.
His gaze went to the wine cellar door, which she'd left cracked.
Bottle of wine in one hand, Deidre retreated to her bedroom to pack.
Wynn lounged in his seat at the garden table, an empty wine glass before him.
A full wine glass sat in front of the seat.
After the first glass of wine, she was convinced.
A bottle of wine later, Deidre found herself sobbing on the couch.
Her wine headache stuck with her throughout the morning on the fourth day.
"A couple of bottles of cheap wine, and half a jug of Tequila some guest left," Dean answered as he fingered the knife.
The whole army--French, Italian, German, Polish, and Dutch--hungry, ragged, and weary of the campaign, felt at the sight of an army blocking their road to Moscow that the wine was drawn and must be drunk.
The wine is drawn and must be drunk.
The sergeant ran up to the officer and in a frightened whisper informed him (as a butler at dinner informs his master that there is no more of some wine asked for) that there were no more charges.
The unaccustomed coarse food, the vodka he drank during those days, the absence of wine and cigars, his dirty unchanged linen, two almost sleepless nights passed on a short sofa without bedding--all this kept him in a state of excitement bordering on insanity.
"Yes, and some wine," answered the captain.
But as the captain had the wine they had taken while passing through Moscow, he left the kvass to Morel and applied himself to the bottle of Bordeaux.
He wrapped the bottle up to its neck in a table napkin and poured out wine for himself and for Pierre.
The satisfaction of his hunger and the wine rendered the captain still more lively and he chatted incessantly all through dinner.
The few glasses of wine he had drunk and the conversation with this good-natured man had destroyed the mood of concentrated gloom in which he had spent the last few days and which was essential for the execution of his design.
Whether it was the wine he had drunk, or an impulse of frankness, or the thought that this man did not, and never would, know any of those who played a part in his story, or whether it was all these things together, something loosened Pierre's tongue.