He shrugged, handed it to me.
Mr. Allen, 66, wearing a blue-and-white check shirt, apologizing for a hearing loss in his left ear and displaying all his familiar mannerisms -- the cough, the chin stroke, the shrugging hands -- answered Ms. Weiss's friendly questions at length.
He shrugged and handed me a document to sign.
When the talk turned to the nature of the opposition and Al Nusra, he shrugged and handed me his iPhone.
The kid with the phone shrugged and handed it to me.
At last, he shrugged and handed me his business card, emblazoned with his title and his corporate paymaster, Americans for Prosperity.
Casually shrugging the hand off, I look at the people in the coffee line.
Cristina shrugs, hands the man a key and waves him toward a set of stairs leading up into the hotel's interior, unaware that she has just set a dervish loose in her establishment.
We're over here,'" Solemani shrugs, handing me a plate, as we sit down to eat lunch in the garden of a photographic studio on a balmy September day.
I delivered it with an Anglican shrug (hands on hips, rather than upturned as in the Gallic), a piece of body language that I like to think said: "Bonjour/Dag, I can see that your mother tongue is under attack from those other bastards, and I do care, but could you see your way to selling me a disappointingly watery coffee?
