Come on back to the hotel.

Ag would not come home until he had a good job and could come to New York to meet her.

And, after boasting this way of my tolerance, I come to the admission that it has a limit.

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

So I went down and caught up with them and grabbed him while he was crouched down waiting for the music to break loose and said, “Come on, Luis.”

His family were enormously wealthy⁠—even in college his freedom with money was a matter for reproach⁠—but now he’d left Chicago and come East in a fashion that rather took your breath away: for instance, he’d brought down a string of polo ponies from Lake Forest.