It was cold on the water.

It slid off, thinning in the water.

Nick trailed his hand in the water.

The firelight went as far as the water.

The perch swam in the water in the pail.

There were pools of water in the courtyard.

He could hear Marjorie rowing on the water.

A bass jumped, making a circle in the water.

Water buffalo and cattle were hauling carts through the mud.

She was afloat in the boat on the water with the moonlight on it.

Close beside the boat a big trout broke the surface of the water.

Another trout broke water, feeding on the other side of the boat.

She walked over to the edge of the dock and looked down to the water.

As the trout’s back came up out of the water the minnows jumped wildly.

The woman in the kitchen motioned to the doctor that the water was hot.

They could both see the two steel rods at an angle over the dark water.

They sprinkled the surface like a handful of shot thrown into the water.

The water was lapping in the piles and the point was dark across the bay.

They tried to hold him up against the wall but he sat down in a puddle of water.

They ate without talking, and watched the two rods and the firelight in the water.

Marjorie dropped the line overboard and watched the baits go down through the water.

Into the water left in the kettle he put several things he unwrapped from a handkerchief.

When they fired the first volley he was sitting down in the water with his head on his knees.

Eddy and Billy Tabeshaw had rocked the log out of the wet sand and rolled it toward the water.

Nick’s father ordered some water to be put on the stove, and while it was heating he spoke to Nick.

Nick’s father went into the kitchen and poured about half of the water out of the big kettle into a basin.

“Those must boil,” he said, and began to scrub his hands in the basin of hot water with a cake of soap he had brought from the camp.

They were trolling along the edge of the channel-bank where the bottom dropped off suddenly from sandy shallows to twelve feet of dark water.

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.

Across the courtesy bay the white palaces of fashionable East Egg glittered along the water, and the history of the summer really begins on the evening I drove over there to have dinner with the Tom Buchanans.

My own house was an eyesore, but it was a small eyesore, and it had been overlooked, so I had a view of the water, a partial view of my neighbour’s lawn, and the consoling proximity of millionaires⁠—all for eighty dollars a month.

Twenty miles from the city a pair of enormous eggs, identical in contour and separated only by a courtesy bay, jut out into the most domesticated body of salt water in the Western hemisphere, the great wet barnyard of Long Island Sound.