The screen door slammed behind him.

Nick went around behind the counter.

I can still see Portofino Cape behind it.

Behind the wooden counter is a Hebrew wine-seller.

“Wait,” the bicycle man shouted from behind the car.

He looked at Manuel, leaning back behind the big desk.

George looked at the clock on the wall behind the counter.

A little man sat behind a desk at the far side of the room.

The doctor stood up and put the shotgun in the corner behind the dresser.

He had no money, and they fed him behind the counter in railway eating houses.

The youths of the cuadrillas were behind, their heavy capes furled over their arms.

Outside, the sun went behind a mountain and there was no more light on the wall of the hut.

Hernandez, running up from behind him, grabbed the end of the canvas and neatly lifted it off the horn.

Behind them came the jingle of the mules, coming out to go into the arena and be hitched onto the dead bull.

In back was the garage, the chicken coop and the second-growth timber like a hedge against the woods behind.

Liz had good legs and always wore clean gingham aprons and Jim noticed that her hair was always neat behind.

Nick pulled hard on one oar so the boat would turn and the bait spinning far behind would pass where the trout was feeding.

As he looked down the negro, who had followed behind him as he moved away from the fire, set himself and tapped him across the base of the skull.

There were the noises of night seven kilometres behind the lines outside but they were different from the small noises inside the room in the dark.

They all marched in the rain behind his coffin and there were one hundred and forty-seven bullfighters followed him out to the cemetery, where they buried him in the tomb next to Joselito.

On the other side there was glass, then the corridor, then an open window, and outside the window were dusty trees and an oiled road and flat fields of grapes, with gray-stone hills behind them.

I’d go ahead of him when we hit the road and I could run pretty stout and I’d look around and he’d be jogging easy just behind me and after a little while I’d look around again and he’d begun to sweat.

The train left the station in Marseilles and there was not only the switch-yards and the factory smoke but, looking back, the town of Marseilles and the harbor with stone hills behind it and the last of the sun on the water.

It was raining hard when we passed through the suburbs of Genoa and, even going very slowly behind the tramcars and the motor trucks, liquid mud splashed on to the sidewalks, so that people stepped into doorways as they saw us coming.

Heads up, swinging with the music, their right arms swinging free, they stepped out, crossing the sanded arena under the arc-lights, the cuadrillas opening out behind, the picadors riding after, behind came the bullring servants and the jingling mules.

If it happened right down close in front of you, you could see Villalta snarl at the bull and curse him, and when the bull charged he swung back firmly like an oak when the wind hits it, his legs tight together, the muleta trailing and the sword following the curve behind.

Then, at the end of the fifth swing, he held the cape against his hip and pivoted, so the cape swung out like a ballet dancer’s skirt and wound the bull around himself like a belt, to step clear, leaving the bull facing Zurito on the white horse, come up and planted firm, the horse facing the bull, its ears forward, its lips nervous, Zurito, his hat over his eyes, leaning forward, the long pole sticking out before and behind in a sharp angle under his right arm, held halfway down, the triangular iron point facing the bull.