We kill them.

We shot them.

We kill them all right.

The street full of them.

More dogs rushed out at them.

She snapped them out with her fingers.

He reads deep books with long words in them.

“Never heard of them,” he remarked decisively.

He and Ag could hear them below on the balcony.

The two Indians sent them back to the shanties.

I don’t hear them because they are not important.

The others went down and took the bottles with them.

There were six or seven of them including two priests.

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

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

Carts were jammed solid on the bridge with camels bobbing along through them.

Nick heard the oarlocks of the other boat quite a way ahead of them in the mist.

“We’ve got to beat them down,” whispered Daisy, winking ferociously toward the fervent sun.

Fifteen came in a bunch to the front and he sorted them by the dates and read them all straight through.

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.

“That’s all right maybe this time,” said Drevitts, “but how did you know they were wops when you bumped them off?”

Giotto, Masaccio, and Piero della Francesca he bought reproductions of and carried them wrapped in a copy of Avanti.

They wanted to get married, but there was not enough time for the banns, and neither of them had birth certificates.

The Indian who was rowing them was working very hard, but the other boat moved further ahead in the mist all the time.

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.”

When they stopped the music for the crouch he hunched down in the street with them all and when they started it again he jumped up and went dancing down the street with them.

I lived at West Egg, the⁠—well, the less fashionable of the two, though this is a most superficial tag to express the bizarre and not a little sinister contrast between them.

When she looked at them they didn’t seem to be moving at all but if she went in and dried some more dishes and then came out again they would be out of sight beyond the point.

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.

Most of the confidences were unsought⁠—frequently I have feigned sleep, preoccupation, or a hostile levity when I realized by some unmistakable sign that an intimate revelation was quivering on the horizon; for the intimate revelations of young men, or at least the terms in which they express them, are usually plagiaristic and marred by obvious suppressions.