One girl, a mother of two young children herself, was crying.

One little girl was crying; she had just heard the news.

It got to the point where the little girl cried when I left.

For the first time he saw that the girl, too, had been crying.

The girl was crying, finally, although she had made the decision never to cry.

I am a little girl crying before my burning house.

The little girl cried, struggling to get out of the man's arms.

Her little girl was crying in the front seat, but she wasn't hurt.

Two times I had heard other girls crying in the wagon.

"Did you see that little girl crying in the hallway?"