There was the swirl of brown water that marked its under-surface progress.
There was the willow-copse by the stream where the brown water talked with a wet tongue.
The brown water swirled past carrying sticks and branches on its foaming surface.
The brown water was dripping over onto the concrete when someone caught Jim's arm.
Pop went a button and—splash—it landed in a puddle of brown water.
The brown water rose steadily, running faster and faster over into the excavation.
It seemed that the fish lay only a few inches under the surface of the brown water.
The sluice was shut fast, but the brown water squirted through the chinks and danced down the hill.
He seated himself on a mossy stone below her with this reflection, and began to cast pebbles into the brown water.
He tuned up a many times in yonder old barge, and shook the brown water, like a frigate's wake.