It was early afternoon and the sun was out.

“What did you do this afternoon?” Nick asked.

That afternoon John Collins showed up out at the farm.

“That was a fine bunch out here this afternoon,” he said.

“We’re playing indoor over at school this afternoon,” she said.

“Don’t look at me,” Daisy retorted, “I’ve been trying to get you to New York all afternoon.”

On the last afternoon before he went abroad, he sat with Daisy in his arms for a long, silent time.

We were all a little detached, and there was nothing that held us together except that we met every afternoon at the hospital.

In the afternoon, after the sun had crossed toward the hills, the trout would be in the cool shadows on the other side of the stream.

We were all at the hospital every afternoon, and there were different ways of walking across the town through the dusk to the hospital.

At the cantina near the bridge they trusted him for three more grappas because he was so confident and mysterious about his job for the afternoon.

The conversation worked itself jerkily toward a rather abrupt conclusion, when Anthony rose, looked at his watch, and remarked that he had an engagement with his broker that afternoon.

The front was broken by a line of French windows, glowing now with reflected gold and wide open to the warm windy afternoon, and Tom Buchanan in riding clothes was standing with his legs apart on the front porch.

Beyond the old hospital were the new brick pavilions, and there we met every afternoon and were all very polite and interested in what was the matter, and sat in the machines that were to make so much difference.