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He was getting the feel of the room for a concert tomorrow night for Puerto Rico Governor Luis Munoz Marin.
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was and getting
Mrs. Roebuck thought Johnson was a `` sweet bawh t'lah lahk thet '', but her Herman was getting to be a man, there was no getting around it.
Packing a small suitcase, informing her husband whom she found in Harry's Bar that she was taking a train to Germany to get away for a while, patting his arm, refusing a drink, getting on the train -- all this had only taken her two hours.
`` Blessed Saint Nicholas, I thank thee for getting me out of that mess and sending me up instead of down when I was bewildered.
Outside it was already hot at 7:30 A.M., and it was getting hot in the kitchen.
A smart, shrewd and ambitious young man, well connected, and with a knack for getting in the good graces of important people, he was bound to go far.
It was getting so that we, the Committee, were being tried.
Alfred was getting too sick to stay in his own home.
It was like finally getting into one's own nightmares to punish one's dreams.
He was crouched over his anvil in the courtyard getting his chisels into trim, when a splinter of steel flew into his eye and imbedded itself in his pupil.
She was getting real dramatic.
It was just me and Eileen getting drunk together like we used to in the old days, and me staring at her across the table crazy to get my hands on her partly because I wanted to wring her neck because she was so ornery but mostly because she was so wonderful to touch.
It was rather a childish game, all in all, but everybody seemed to be getting into the spirit of the thing and he could not remember when he had enjoyed planning anything quite so much.
There was no way of getting even.
but since she didn't know we'd given it to her, there was no easy way of getting it back.
Big Hans began pouring whisky in the kid's mouth but his mouth filled without any getting down his throat and in a second it was dripping from his chin.
She did this now, comfortably aware of the mist running down the windows, of the silence outside, of the dark afternoon it was getting to be.
Then there was the caterer's ad which read: `` are you getting married or having an affair??
was and feel
So long as Sally's pa was coming out best on the haggle, Dan didn't feel the need of putting in his two-bits' worth.
Miriam had not yet goaded him into mentioning her directly, but one can feel the generalized anger in Wright's remarks to reporters when he was asked, one morning on arrival in Chicago, what he thought of the city as a whole.
The basic difficulty, I suppose, was in my ultimate inability to feel a burden of sin from which I sought relief.
`` He was not much older than myself, '' writes the narrator, `` when he began to feel the impact of that human mystery which now obsesses me, and which makes me begin, perhaps, to understand him ''.
Something was happening all right, slowly it is true, but you could feel it.
He could feel his own feet, iron-shod, striking repeatedly until the body was limp.
The last thing in the world that resembled a war was our line of farmers and storekeepers and mechanics perched on top of a stone wall, and this dashing rider made us feel a good deal sharper and more alert to the situation.
They would feel what Mary was undergoing.
and he could tell, simply by the feel of it, whether it was made of wood, iron, cloth, rubber, and so on.
Shout at Eichmann though he might, the Prosecutor could not establish that the defendant was falsifying the way he felt about Jews or that what he did feel fell into the generally recognized category of anti-Semitism.
Hank was beginning to feel sharp concern for Mr. Black.
He was beginning to feel woolly.
Player was the first to feel its teeth.
But though Kimpton put Chicago in what he felt was working order, some old grads feel that it still needs the kind of lively teachers who filled it in the heady Hutchins era.
And you know you will always wonder all of your life whether it was because you wanted him so bad that you didn't get him, and you can feel nearly sorry enough to cry when you think of that other guy, the chump who begged you to marry him, the one with the plastered hair and the car he couldn't afford and the too-shiny shoes.
It was foggy that evening, but the path to my house was so well grooved that I could feel my way, accustomed as I was to the dense mists that rise from the sun-warmed palisades of the river and sometimes last for days.
Once when she asked why he never went swimming and he answered, `` Don't feel like it '', he was tempted to tell her about being scared.
The place was busy but I didn't feel like a Hun.
There was something about private feminine whisperings which always made him feel scabrous and unclean.
He was wide awake, but he did not feel like doing anything.
Although they " were expecting to see activity in the brain's reward centers ", based on the idea that " people perform altruistic acts because they feel good about it ", what they found was that " another part of the brain was also involved, and it was quite sensitive to the difference between doing something for personal gain and doing it for someone else's gain ".
was and room
When the meal was ready, he told Jones to wash up, and going into the front room, woke the girl.
A man was standing in the open door of the lighted orderly room a few yards to Mike's left, but he, too, suddenly made up his mind and went racing to join the confused activity at the east end of the stockade.
His looting of the orderly room had taken only a minute or two and the vicinity was still clear of guerrillas.
There was a light in Black's front room, but drawn curtains prevented any view of the interior.
The valley was only a few hundred yards wide with just about room enough for a properly performed hundred-and-eighty-degree turn.
There was not enough room to make the usual vertical bomb run.
There was a shattering, cracking sound as the concrete started to buckle, the air filled with dust and flying debris, and everyone in the room -- men and women hit the floor and used the desks as turtlebacks, as ordered.
So Dandy Brandon trustingly entered the house with Delphine Lalaurie and trudged up the rear steps to the attic room which was to be his new home.
It was just as well that the ignorant Dandy enjoyed himself to the hilt that first evening, for the room was to become his prison cell.
It was much more fun, reminding the girls of their old carefree days in the Hasseltine frolics room at Bradford.
That unused room was large enough for -- well, say an elephant could get into it and, as a matter of fact, an elephant did.
When Fred wheeled him back into his room, the big one looking out on the back porch, and put him to bed, Papa told him he was very tired but that he had enjoyed greatly the trip downtown.
And when Alfred was forced into his bed, Tessie left the front porch of the store and sat at home, rocking in her rocker in the living room, staring out the window -- the rose still in her hair.
Mrs. Podger had obligingly pushed things around on the porch to make room for it, and there it was, slung in a vine-shaded corner, the night breeze rippling its fringe with a slow, caressing movement.
Among some recent imports were seat covers for one series of dining room chairs on which were depicted salad plates overflowing with tomatoes and greens and another set on which a pineapple was worked in naturalistic color.
All I could remember was Billie Dove pasted over the ceiling of my big brother's room.
He was able, now, to sit for hours in a chair in the living room and stare out at the bleak yard without moving.
He ran for the sick room, found his pistol was broken, and threw it away.
Far away, standing before a curtained window in the study room, was his father, hands tucked under his coattails, and staring into the dark church.
He settled on the sofa with his coffee, warming his hands on the cup, although the room was heavy with heat.
He didn't, but it was not really a question, and so he left the room, walked down the hall to the front of the apartment, hesitated, and then knocked lightly on the closed door of the study.
When enough time had elapsed so that there was little likelihood of his returning for something he had forgotten, Harold went out into the hall and stood looking into one room after another.
In the room next to theirs was a huge cradle, of mahogany, ornately carved and decorated with gold leaf.
With the metal shutters closed, the dining room was so dark that it seemed still night in there.
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