Then he was dead.

It was going well.

It was very jolly.

There was no answer.

Everybody was drunk.

There was no answer.

The day was very hot.

He was smoking a pipe.

That was a way she had.

Then the bull was gone.

What was that word we⁠—

He was drunk all right.

It was Gatsby’s mansion.

It was simply priceless.

It was cold on the water.

He was really very fast.

It was absolutely topping.

He was nervously unsteady.

He was delighted with Italy.

It was a frightfully hot day.

She was clipping a rose bush.

She knew it was for the best.

His face was sweaty and dirty.

Her head was turned to one side.

He was Spider Kelly’s star pupil.

In the upper bunk was her husband.

The king was working in the garden.

It was funny going along that road.

It was a beautiful country, he said.

Rinaldi was a disappointing audience.

It was an absolutely perfect obstacle.

That was when I was a kitchen Corporal.

She was cool and fresh in the hot night.

And as I walked on I was lonely no longer.

One of the ministers was sick with typhoid.

The younger of the two was a stranger to me.

Uncle George was smoking a cigar in the dark.

He was a Magyar, a very nice boy and very shy.

We all looked⁠—the knuckle was black and blue.

I was a guide, a pathfinder, an original settler.

When he started to kill it was all in the same rush.

All the time now Liz was thinking about Jim Gilmore.

It was early September and the country was pleasant.

At the lake shore there was another rowboat drawn up.

The Maritza was running yellow almost up to the bridge.

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

The blacksmith shop was painted red and faced the school.

Jim was short and dark with big mustaches and big hands.

It was a body capable of enormous leverage⁠—a cruel body.

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