One was a big buck.

Her head was turned to one side.

“Be a man, my son,” said one priest.

One of the ministers was sick with typhoid.

“Better get one,” said a man in a derby hat.

It is the one country that everyone is sure of.

“How about a chair, Will?” asked one of the guards.

Then one year there were no more logs to make lumber.

“That’s one for the medical journal, George,” he said.

Villalta became one with the bull and then it was over.

We waited till he got one leg over and then potted him.

One of the white men sat on his cot with his head in his hands.

Eddy hung the saw up by one of its handles in the crotch of a tree.

They laid Maera down on a cot and one of the men went for the doctor.

Boyle shot one off the seat of the wagon and one out of the wagonbox.

If no one came for them they would be left to waterlog and rot on the beach.

He stopped stiff and one of the monos held his bridle and walked him forward.

No one who lived in it was out of sound of the big saws in the mill by the lake.

He mounted on the edge of the lower bunk with the lamp in one hand and looked in.

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

Everybody I knew was in the bond business, so I supposed it could support one more single man.

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

One of Jim’s hands went inside her dress and stroked over her breast and the other hand was in her lap.

They sunk the ends of their cant-hooks into one of the logs and swung against it to loosen it in the sand.

One hot evening in Milan they carried him up onto the roof and he could look out over the top of the town.

Nick and his father got in the stern of the boat and the Indians shoved it off and one of them got in to row.

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

It was a matter of chance that I should have rented a house in one of the strangest communities in North America.

There was so much to read, for one thing, and so much fine health to be pulled down out of the young breath-giving air.

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

Nick, standing in the door of the kitchen, had a good view of the upper bunk when his father, the lamp in one hand, tipped the Indian’s head back.

The big mill building had all its machinery that was removable taken out and hoisted on board one of the schooners by the men who had worked in the mill.

Spider Kelly taught all his young gentlemen to box like featherweights, no matter whether they weighed one hundred and five or two hundred and five pounds.

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.

One day she found that she liked it the way the hair was black on his arms and how white they were above the tanned line when he washed up in the washbasin outside the house.

She laughed again, as if she said something very witty, and held my hand for a moment, looking up into my face, promising that there was no one in the world she so much wanted to see.

The one-story bunk houses, the eating-house, the company store, the mill offices, and the big mill itself stood deserted in the acres of sawdust that covered the swampy meadow by the shore of the bay.

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.

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.

A breeze blew through the room, blew curtains in at one end and out the other like pale flags, twisting them up toward the frosted wedding-cake of the ceiling, and then rippled over the wine-coloured rug, making a shadow on it as wind does on the sea.

I was rather literary in college⁠—one year I wrote a series of very solemn and obvious editorials for the Yale News⁠—and now I was going to bring back all such things into my life and become again that most limited of all specialists, the “well-rounded man.”

The one on my right was a colossal affair by any standard⁠—it was a factual imitation of some Hôtel de Ville in Normandy, with a tower on one side, spanking new under a thin beard of raw ivy, and a marble swimming pool, and more than forty acres of lawn and garden.

If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate machines that register earthquakes ten thousand miles away.

Her husband, among various physical accomplishments, had been one of the most powerful ends that ever played football at New Haven⁠—a national figure in a way, one of those men who reach such an acute limited excellence at twenty-one that everything afterward savours of anticlimax.

Her husband, among various physical accomplishments, had been one of the most powerful ends that ever played football at New Haven⁠—a national figure in a way, one of those men who reach such an acute limited excellence at twenty-one that everything afterward savours of anticlimax.

They had drifted up onto the beach and if nothing were done about them sooner or later the crew of the Magic would come along the shore in a rowboat, spot the logs, drive an iron spike with a ring on it into the end of each one and then tow them out into the lake to make a new boom.

They splashed more mud than the camions even and if one of the officers in the back was very small and sitting between two generals, he himself so small that you could not see his face but only the top of his cap and his narrow back, and if the car went especially fast it was probably the King.

The Carraways are something of a clan, and we have a tradition that we’re descended from the Dukes of Buccleuch, but the actual founder of my line was my grandfather’s brother, who came here in fifty-one, sent a substitute to the Civil War, and started the wholesale hardware business that my father carries on today.

The second matador slipped, and the bull caught him through the belly and he hung onto the horn with one hand and held the other tight against the place, and the bull rammed him wham against the barrier and the horn came out, and he lay in the sand, and then got up like crazy drunk and tried to slug the men carrying him away and yelled for his sword, but he fainted.