The grace of those slow-moving, certain muscles of his accorded perfectly with the rhythm of the music.
There was never doubt, never a betrayal of indecision.

She glanced at Bert, dancing "tough" with Mary, caroming down the long floor with more than one collision with the increasing couples.

Graceful himself in his slender, tall, lean-stomached way, Bert was accounted a good dancer; yet Saxon did not remember ever having danced with him with keen pleasure.
Just a hit of a jerk spoiled his dancing--a jerk that did not occur, usually, but that always impended.

There was something spasmodic in his mind.

He was too quick, or he continually threatened to be too quick.
He always seemed just on the verge of overrunning the time.