Слово "fling". Англо-русский словарь Мюллера

I heard a step outside, and incontinently flung open the door and found Montgomery within a yard of it.

I flung myself into the chair again, and pressed my hands on my forehead.

The man had actually flung himself on his knees on the floor, with his hand clasped together.

He suddenly sprang up, and darting like lightning across the room he flung open the door.

To fling elaborate sarcasms at Tess, however, was much like flinging them at a dog or cat.

And the tree broke at once into blossom, and the birds came and sang on it, and the little boy stretched out his two arms and flung them round the Giant's neck, and kissed him.

If she had had any lingering notion of exposing Alfred Temple, Tom's offensive fling had driven it entirely away.

"Human nature, eh?" Victor Astwell stared at him, then he flung himself down in a chair.

After all, youth is the time to have one's fling - not to sit poring over test tubes.

They’ve got to have their fling.”

The "Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week.

She bent down and kissed his noble brow, then looked at the sky, on which the rosy dawn grew brighter and brighter. She glanced at the sharp knife and again fixed her eyes on the prince, who whispered the name of his bride in his dreams. She was in his thoughts, and the knife trembled in the hand of the little mermaid—but she flung it far from her into the waves. The water turned red where it fell, and the drops that spurted up looked like blood.

Boys who felt the evening wind on their damp faces paused to enjoy the freshness of it and then found they were exhausted. They flung themselves down in the shadows that lay among die shattered rocks.

Poirot flung out his hands.  

There were a portable wireless, practically no books, and one newspaper flung open on the end of the sofa.

He would fling himself upon the bear and kill it.

not just a fling, but real love, sustainable love.

  She flung up her arms wildly and then staggered slightly.

The fire died down, and the gleaming eyes drew closer the circle they had flung about the camp.

In her bedroom Fleur had flung off her gown, and, wrapped in a shapeless garment, with the white flower still in her hair, she looked like a mousme, sitting cross-legged on her bed, writing by candlelight.