Then he was dead.

Then the bull was gone.

Just then the woman cried out.

Maera saw him and then I saw him.

Then three more came over further down the wall.

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

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

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

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

Do you always watch for the longest day of the year and then miss it?

Then it got larger and larger and larger and then smaller and smaller.

Maera felt everything getting larger and larger and then smaller and smaller.

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

Then everything commenced to run faster and faster as when they speed up a cinematograph film.

Then they went into the woods and followed a trail that led to the logging road that ran back into the hills.

At Bologna he said goodbye to us to go on the train to Milano and then to Aosta to walk over the pass into Switzerland.

I heard the drums coming down the street and then the fifes and the pipes and then they came around the corner, all dancing.

“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.

He tried five times and the crowd was quiet because it was a good bull and it looked like him or the bull and then he finally made it.

They had spent a year in France for no particular reason, and then drifted here and there unrestfully wherever people played polo and were rich together.

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.

The crowd shouted all the time, and threw pieces of bread down into the bull ring, then cushions and leather wine bottles, keeping up whistling and yelling.

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.

Then there was a boom as Tom Buchanan shut the rear windows and the caught wind died out about the room, and the curtains and the rugs and the two young women ballooned slowly to the floor.

The other girl, Daisy, made an attempt to rise⁠—she leaned slightly forward with a conscientious expression⁠—then she laughed, an absurd, charming little laugh, and I laughed too and came forward into the room.

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.

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.

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.

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.