The Hungarians were backing their wagon out of an alley.

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

Ag never got an answer to the letter to Chicago about it.

Then she added irrelevantly: “You ought to see the baby.”

He heard his wife catch her breath when the door slammed.

The blacksmith shop was painted red and faced the school.

She did not know what had become of the baby or anything.

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

There was farming country and timber each way up the road.

Two soldiers carried him downstairs and out into the rain.

“I’ll put some peroxide on that, George,” the doctor said.

They came out onto the gallows through a door in the wall.

There were wet dead leaves on the paving of the courtyard.

The men washed up and waited in the front room for supper.

Then he turned away and walked up the hill to the cottage.

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

Five men sentenced to be hanged were in the five top cells.

The husband in the upper bunk rolled over against the wall.

“Sorry,” he said, outside her window with the blinds drawn.

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

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

Maera lay still, his head on his arms, his face in the sand.

Water buffalo and cattle were hauling carts through the mud.

“I’ll be back in the morning,” the doctor said, standing up.

The last I heard of him the Swiss had him in jail near Sion.

They were swearing at him and flopping the cape in his face.

The major did not marry her in the spring, or any other time.

They swung their weight against the shafts of the cant-hooks.

“Your mother wants you to come and see her,” the doctor said.

Dick Boulton walked around past the cottage down to the lake.

And just after the war I spent two days with them in Chicago.

The whole battery was drunk going along the road in the dark.

Something in the door clicked several times and it swung open.

He had been like that since about four o’clock in the morning.

Two Austrian dead lay in the rubble in the shade of the house.

If you think the logs are stolen, take your stuff and get out.

We’d jammed an absolutely perfect barricade across the bridge.

As he walked back along the halls he thought of Ag in his bed.

Manuel Garcia climbed the stairs to Don Miguel Retana’s office.

Uncle George was standing against the wall, looking at his arm.

There was a great shouting going on in the grandstand overhead.

There were four big beech logs lying almost buried in the sand.

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

In the shanty nearest the road there was a light in the window.

They all watched him walk up the hill and go inside the cottage.

Jim pulled the burlap sacks off the deer and Liz looked at them.

He pushed the shells back in against the spring of the magazine.

I always watch for the longest day in the year and then miss it.

The carts were jammed for thirty miles along the Karagatch road.

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