Let’s go there.

There was no answer.

There was no answer.

There comes the moon.

I know somebody there.

“There it is,” he said.

There was no need of that.

No, there wasn’t any scene.

He lay there for a long time.

There is an Indian lady very sick.

There were chimney swifts in the sky.

Nick sat there, his head in his hands.

He’s there, all right, Manuel thought.

She sat there with her back toward him.

There was a mist coming up from the bay.

“Who’s there?” said someone in the office.

There were pools of water in the courtyard.

At the lake shore there was another rowboat drawn up.

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

There were six or seven of them including two priests.

There were two hooks attached to a leader on each rod.

It was dim and quiet, and there were other people praying.

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

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

There were only a few patients, and they all knew about it.

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

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

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

Manuel, standing in the hallway, felt there was someone in the room.

“There. That gets it,” said his father and put something into the basin.

There was a woman having a kid with a young girl holding a blanket over her and crying.

It was lonely and rainy there, and there was a battalion of arditi quartered in the town.

He lay there while he heard Bill come into the clearing, walking around through the woods.

It was a four gallon jug and there was quite a little slopped back and forth in the bottom.

There was fighting in the mountains and at night we could see the flashes from the artillery.

In the dark it was like summer lightning, but the nights were cool and there was not the feeling of a storm coming.

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

Jim came over back of her chair and stood there and she could feel him breathing and then he put his arms around her.

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.

The plain was rich with crops; there were many orchards of fruit trees and beyond the plain the mountains were brown and bare.

There was no moon and they walked ankle deep in the sandy road through the trees down to the dock and the warehouse on the bay.

There was something pathetic in his concentration, as if his complacency, more acute than of old, was not enough to him any more.

There was a touch of paternal contempt in it, even toward people he liked⁠—and there were men at New Haven who had hated his guts.

All the men had beards and there were three deer in the back of the wagon, their thin legs sticking stiff over the edge of the wagon box.

In the bed of the river there were pebbles and boulders, dry and white in the sun, and the water was clear and swiftly moving and blue in the channels.

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.

There were small gray motorcars that passed going very fast; usually there was an officer on the seat with the driver and more officers in the back seat.

It was on that slender riotous island which extends itself due east of New York⁠—and where there are, among other natural curiosities, two unusual formations of land.

“Aint there something left in that crock Jimmy?” A. J. Smith asked and Jim went out to the wagon in the barn and fetched in the jug of whiskey the men had taken hunting with them.

There were big guns too that passed in the day drawn by tractors, the long barrels of the guns covered with green branches and green leafy branches and vines laid over the tractors.