It’s about Russia.

I’ll think about it.

What’s it all about?

I don’t care about me.

I worry about the kids.

He knew all about bulls.

“How about another boys?”

Talk about something else.

The bottle was about empty.

What was the trouble about?

I oughtn’t to talk about it.

He talked about it a little.

It’s about the butler’s nose.

She liked it about his mustache.

“That’s about right,” he called.

Nick had not thought about that.

What was the trouble about, dear?

You don’t want to think about it.

We won’t ever speak about it again.

You can’t ever tell about those guys.

I talked about it and now I’m through.

He must be about the best guy there is.

Can’t you talk about crops or something?

How did we ever get talking about baseball?

He felt sick about saying goodbye like that.

Do you want to hear about the butler’s nose?

“What does he know about Russia?” Nick asked.

I spoke to him about the Mantegnas in Milano.

“How about a chair, Will?” asked one of the guards.

I’ve gotten to be a terrible pessimist about things.

All the time now Liz was thinking about Jim Gilmore.

She was thinking about him hard and then Jim came out.

Ag never got an answer to the letter to Chicago about it.

“There’s always more to it than we know about,” Nick said.

There were only a few patients, and they all knew about it.

She liked it about how white his teeth were when he smiled.

“I’m sorry as hell about her but what could I do?” he said.

He had been like that since about four o’clock in the morning.

He felt lighter, as he had felt before Bill started to talk about it.

He went upstairs into the loft and Nick heard him walking about overhead.

He liked her face because it was so jolly but he never thought about her.

All the time Jim was gone on the deer hunting trip Liz thought about him.

“I’ve got a nice place here,” he said, his eyes flashing about restlessly.

He had talked to her about how they would go to Italy together and the fun they would have.

He executed an abrupt about-face and returned to the living room, where he renewed his pacing.

We were fifty kilometers from the front, but the adjutant worried about the fire in my kitchen.

On the train from Padua to Milan they quarreled about her not being willing to come home at once.

He talked about the shop to A. J. Smith and about the Republican Party and about James G. Blaine.

Liz was sitting in the kitchen next to the stove pretending to read a book and thinking about Jim.

She couldn’t sleep well from thinking about him but she discovered it was fun to think about him too.