What are you reading?

What did the Cards do?

That’s what we drink to.

I don’t know what to say.

What was the trouble about?

What don’t you know, anyway?

“What do you mean?” asked Nick.

What was the trouble about, dear?

“You know what her mother was like!”

“What do you want?” asked the voice.

What a lousy kid thing to have done.

That is what is happening when she screams.

Now he did not know what he was going to do.

“What does he know about Russia?” Nick asked.

“What are you doing that for?” asked the doctor.

What she is going through is called being in labor.

“What else have you got I haven’t read?” Nick asked.

“Nothing like it this time of year for what ails you.”

She did not know what had become of the baby or anything.

“Maybe that’s what McGraw wants him for,” Nick suggested.

“I’m sorry as hell about her but what could I do?” he said.

He was looking away so as not to see what his father was doing.

What I couldn’t ever understand was what good the sword would do.

“He says opening bottles is what makes drunkards,” Bill explained.

Liz hadn’t known just what would happen when Jim got back but she was sure it would be something.

Conduct may be founded on the hard rock or the wet marshes, but after a certain point I don’t care what it’s founded on.

Imagine having them around the house all the time and going to Sunday dinners at their house, and having them over to dinner and her telling Marge all the time what to do and how to act.

No⁠—Gatsby turned out all right at the end; it is what preyed on Gatsby, what foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams that temporarily closed out my interest in the abortive sorrows and short-winded elations of men.

Nick’s father always assumed that this was what would happen, and hired the Indians to come down from the camp and cut the logs up with the crosscut saw and split them with a wedge to make cord wood and chunks for the open fireplace.