Listen to me.

Tell me, Henry.

This annoyed me.

“Me, Manolo,” Manuel said.

He seemed very glad to see me.

It don’t make any difference to me.

You and me we’ve made a separate peace.

“Do they miss me?” she cried ecstatically.

Give me the book, I’ll put it in my pocket.

Please don’t try and keep anything from me.

The younger of the two was a stranger to me.

How you ever get anything done is beyond me.

He turned me around again, politely and abruptly.

“You go down after him,” said Maera, “he hates me.”

She turned to me helplessly: “What do people plan?”

He went inside when he saw me and came downstairs disgusted.

He had casually conferred on me the freedom of the neighbourhood.

I grabbed his arm and he pulled loose and said, “Oh, leave me alone.”

He didn’t listen to me, he was listening so hard for the music to start.

If you call me Doc once again, I’ll knock your eye teeth down your throat.

It occurred to me now that I had seen her, or a picture of her, somewhere before.

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

I looked back at my cousin, who began to ask me questions in her low, thrilling voice.

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

He thanked me very much, but his mind was already looking forward to walking over the pass.

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

The revolutionary committee, he told me, would not allow him to go outside the palace grounds.

After an infinitesimal hesitation he included Daisy with a slight nod, and she winked at me again.

Liz was terribly frightened, no one had ever touched her, but she thought, “He’s come to me finally.”

He reported at Bologna, and I took him with me up into the Romagna where it was necessary I go to see a man.

“You make me feel uncivilized, Daisy,” I confessed on my second glass of corky but rather impressive claret.

It was lonely for a day or so until one morning some man, more recently arrived than I, stopped me on the road.

They were here, and they accepted Tom and me, making only a polite pleasant effort to entertain or to be entertained.

Her grey sun-strained eyes looked back at me with polite reciprocal curiosity out of a wan, charming, discontented face.

In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since.

I told her how I had stopped off in Chicago for a day on my way East, and how a dozen people had sent their love through me.

Father agreed to finance me for a year, and after various delays I came East, permanently, I thought, in the spring of twenty-two.

Evidently it surprised her as much as it did me, for she yawned and with a series of rapid, deft movements stood up into the room.

“Oh, I’ll stay in the East, don’t you worry,” he said, glancing at Daisy and then back at me, as if he were alert for something more.

Well, Dick owes me a lot of money for pulling his squaw through pneumonia and I guess he wanted a row so he wouldn’t have to take it out in work.

When, almost immediately, the telephone rang inside and the butler left the porch Daisy seized upon the momentary interruption and leaned towards me.

All my aunts and uncles talked it over as if they were choosing a prep school for me, and finally said, “Why⁠—ye-es,” with very grave, hesitant faces.

“Whenever you feel like criticizing anyone,” he told me, “just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.”

If she saw me out of the corner of her eyes she gave no hint of it⁠—indeed, I was almost surprised into murmuring an apology for having disturbed her by coming in.

In consequence, I’m inclined to reserve all judgements, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran bores.

We were in the same senior society, and while we were never intimate I always had the impression that he approved of me and wanted me to like him with some harsh, defiant wistfulness of his own.

Before I could reply that he was my neighbour dinner was announced; wedging his tense arm imperatively under mine, Tom Buchanan compelled me from the room as though he were moving a checker to another square.

Turning me around by one arm, he moved a broad flat hand along the front vista, including in its sweep a sunken Italian garden, a half acre of deep, pungent roses, and a snub-nosed motorboat that bumped the tide offshore.

At any rate, Miss Baker’s lips fluttered, she nodded at me almost imperceptibly, and then quickly tipped her head back again⁠—the object she was balancing had obviously tottered a little and given her something of a fright.