He was well rid of her.

Her blond hair was frowzy, her dress torn in several places, and her shoes were so completely worn out that they were practically no protection.

It must have hurt her even to walk, for the sole was completely off her left foot and Morgan saw that it was bruised and bleeding.

He treats her like she was dirt.

He might tell her how sorry a spectacle she was making of herself, pretending to be blind to the way Julia Fortune had taken Dean's affections from her.

She was carrying a quirt, and she started to raise it, then let it fall again and dangle from her wrist.

She said, and her tone had softened until it was almost friendly.

She had picked up the quirt and was twirling it around her wrist and smiling at him.

He grabbed her by the shoulders and went down on one knee, taking her weight so that some of the wind was driven out of him.

He got up slowly, and she was already on her feet, and he stood facing her.

She brought up her free hand to hit him, but this time he was quicker.

But her prettiness was what he had noticed first, and all the other things had come afterward: cruelty, meanness, self-will.

That girl last night, what was her name??

It was the only thing about her that was the least bit hard to remember.

So simple, in fact, that it might even work -- although Pamela, now, in her new frame of mind, was careful not to pretend too much assurance.

There was only one place where the mountain might receive her -- that unnamed, unnameable pool harbored in its secret bosom.

It was there that she would have to enact her renunciation, beg forgiveness.

It was the only thing in his life for which he felt guilt.

His looting of the orderly room had taken only a minute or two and the vicinity was still clear of guerrillas.

It was pitiful to see the thin ranks of warriors, old and young, wheeling and twisting their ponies frantically from side to side only to be tumbled bleeding from their saddles by the relentless slam, slam of the cruelly efficient Hawkinses.

The fire had gone down, and the man was only a shadow against the trees.

There was only one place where Jake Carwood's description had gone badly awry: the peace and quiet.

under the circumstances I was only too willing to confess all.

only the counter at one end was lighted by a long fluorescent tube suspended directly above it.

On a shelf in the office behind the counter was a small radio dialed permanently on a station which broadcast only vulgar commercials and cheap popular music.

Once, pressing him, I learned that his job was only part-time, in the afternoons when nothing went on in the hall.

Though only a relatively short walk separated it from my own part of town, its character was wholly foreign to me.

The river was only a few blocks away but an unbroken line of piers prevented me from seeing it.

Although it was dark as usual I could see that the hall had only recently contained a great many people.

This desire, I went on, growing voluble as my conviction was aroused, had mounted at such a rate recently that I now found its realization necessary not only to my physical but also to my spiritual wellbeing.

The only reason we brought you was to get Miller out.

The only thing which would have attracted attention was that two wore the uniform of prison guards, three the striped suits of convicts.

He had belonged to this land and, perhaps, had desecrated it -- and this was the only material symbol that remained of him.

Now, he could only play the last card in what was probably the world's coldest deck.

He was only vaguely aware of the sluicing rain.

He paused only long enough to ascertain that Jess's buckskin was still missing and that his own gray was all right, then climbed through a back window and dropped to the ground outside.

There was no lock on the door, only an iron hook which he unfastened.

Again he stood in the darkness listening, but there was only the scrape of a shod hoof on a plank floor.

The best antidote for the bitterness and disappointment that poisoned him was hard work.

He'd started a fire and put coffee on, and now was busy at the work board of his chuck wagon.

Tom Horn was soon back at work, giving his secret employers their money's worth.

The arrangement I had with him was to work four hours a day.

I quit work at my usual hour as if this day was no different from other days.

Their work was lonely.

With Ramey it was a dusty work shoe that was half-off the Indian's foot that he would always remember.

He was aware of her as a frightfully good-looking American WAC, a second lieutenant assigned to do the paper work, ( regardless of how important she might have thought she was ) in the Command offices, but that was all.

That should do it, he thought, because Miss Langford had said she was going to be strict about school work.

The only drawback now to the plan he'd decided on was that someone else might fail to do his work, too, and the teacher would have that person stay late along with Jack.

Was it supposed, perchance, that A & M ( vocational training, that is ) was quite sufficient for the immigrant class which flooded that part of the New England world in the post-Civil War period, the immigrants having been brought in from Southern Europe, to work in the mills, to make up for the labor shortage caused by migration to the West??

His next major work, completed in 1892, was a long fantastic epic in prose, entitled Hans Alienus, which Professor Book describes as a monument on the grave of his carefree and indolent youth.

Whether in prose or poetry, all of Heidenstam's later work was concerned with Sweden.

But his own work was evolving further.

One evening, while a volley-ball game was being played in the yard among the prisoners remaining there, a simulated melee was staged -- just as the gates were opened to admit other prisoners returning from work.

While convalescing in his Virginia home he wrote a book recording his prison experiences and escape, entitled: They Shall Not Have Me Published originally in ( Helion's ) English by Dutton & Co. of New York, in 1943, the book was received by the press as a work of astonishing literary power and one of the most realistic accounts of World War 2, from the French side.

And I was to go to work on that odd matter.

It was part of Little Jack's work to look after the dogs.

As a result, he was sent to a hospital in Arizona until his health improved enough for him to come back to Washington to work in the Government service.

But again, there was danger that his lungs would suffer in the muggy Washington weather, and he had to return to the dry climate of the West to live and work.