I don’t care who you steal from.

There was a mist coming up from the bay.

He went to America on a boat from Genoa.

His throat had been cut from ear to ear.

He felt warm and sticky from the bleeding.

Please don’t try and keep anything from me.

Jim Gilmore came to Hortons Bay from Canada.

They could see from his back how angry he was.

He pulled back the blanket from the Indian’s head.

He bought the blacksmith shop from old man Horton.

Then he heard his wife’s voice from the darkened room.

A cold mist was coming up through the woods from the bay.

It was cold but Liz was hot all over from being with Jim.

A big old wrought-iron grating from the front of a house.

Blood pumped regularly from between the horse’s front legs.

Young Buckley came in with his patrol from across the river.

They tried to get over it, and we potted them from forty yards.

Dick picked up the axes and Eddy took the saw down from the tree.

Dick Boulton came from the Indian camp to cut up logs for Nick’s father.

“No, thanks,” said Miss Baker to the four cocktails just in from the pantry.

Drevitts and Boyle drove up from the Fifteenth Street police station in a Ford.

Almost any exhibition of complete self-sufficiency draws a stunned tribute from me.

The doctor came running from the corral, where he had been sewing up picador horses.

The nurse should be here from St. Ignace by noon and she’ll bring everything we need.

He was very shy and quite young and the train men passed him on from one crew to another.

He had to polish it from morning till night, until finally it began to affect his nose⁠—

Into the water left in the kettle he put several things he unwrapped from a handkerchief.

Then the music started again and he jumped up and twisted away from me and started dancing.

From Smith’s back door Liz could see ore barges way out in the lake going toward Boyne City.

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.

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

This isn’t just an epigram⁠—life is much more successfully looked at from a single window, after all.

After he got on crutches he used to take the temperatures so Ag would not have to get up from the bed.

From Smith’s back door you could look out across the woods that ran down to the lake and across the bay.

The logs had been lost from the big log booms that were towed down the lake to the mill by the steamer Magic.

She worked out from under him and sat up and straightened her skirt and coat and tried to do something with her hair.

The pink wall of the house opposite had fallen out from the roof, and an iron bedstead hung twisted toward the street.

“Aren’t you going back to work, dear?” asked the doctor’s wife from the room where she was lying with the blinds drawn.

She liked it the way he walked over from the shop and often went to the kitchen door to watch for him to start down the road.

They walked up from the beach through a meadow that was soaking wet with dew, following the young Indian who carried a lantern.

A short time after he contracted gonorrhea from a sales girl in a loop department store riding in a taxicab through Lincoln Park.

“Those must boil,” he said, and began to scrub his hands in the basin of hot water with a cake of soap he had brought from the camp.

Then he cursed the bull, flopped the muleta at him, and swung back from the charge, his feet firm, the muleta curving and at each swing the crowd roaring.

Only Gatsby, the man who gives his name to this book, was exempt from my reaction⁠—Gatsby, who represented everything for which I have an unaffected scorn.

My house was at the very tip of the egg, only fifty yards from the Sound, and squeezed between two huge places that rented for twelve or fifteen thousand a season.

Finally the bull was too tired from so much sticking and folded his knees and lay down and one of the cuadrilla leaned out over his neck and killed him with the puntillo.

I graduated from New Haven in 1915, just a quarter of a century after my father, and a little later I participated in that delayed Teutonic migration known as the Great War.

It was very beautiful in the spring and summer, the bay blue and bright and usually whitecaps on the lake out beyond the point from the breeze blowing from Charlevoix and Lake Michigan.

He drew out the sword from the folds of the muleta and sighted with the same movement and called to the bull, Toro! Toro! and the bull charged and Villalta charged and just for a moment they became one.