I picked a ripe Pink Lady from the orchard and bit into its crisp, sweet flesh.

When the pizza lady arrived, she handed me the box with a cheerful nod.

A line of lady-flies crawled along the windowsill, their tiny spots shining in the sunlight.

The child gently cupped the lady-fly and watched its tiny spots gleam in the sun.

While hiking through the damp woods, I spotted a patch of lady's slippers tucked between ferns and had to kneel down to admire them.

After dinner, we played Black Lady until midnight, each of us trying to avoid taking the penalty queen of spades.

At the dimly lit bar, she ordered a White Lady — a refreshing gin sour made with triple sec and lime juice — to brighten her mood.

She chose a soft lady's cloth for her summer dress, appreciating how its graceful drape and breathability suited the seaside wedding.

On Lady-day each year, the town bell tolls to mark the old feast.

Local calendars listed multiple Lady Days that dictated when markets and fairs could be held.