It’s about Russia.

What’s it all about?

I’ll think about it.

I don’t care about me.

I worry about the kids.

He knew all about bulls.

“How about another boys?”

Talk about something else.

What was the trouble about?

The bottle was about empty.

I oughtn’t to talk about it.

He talked about it a little.

It’s about the butler’s nose.

Nick had not thought about that.

She liked it about his mustache.

“That’s about right,” he called.

You don’t want to think about it.

What was the trouble about, dear?

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?

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

He felt sick about saying goodbye like that.

I spoke to him about the Mantegnas in Milano.

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

“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.

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

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

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

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.

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

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.

“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.