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Page "History of Croatia" ¶ 48
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was and only
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.
It was the only thing about her that was the least bit hard to remember.
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.
There was only one place where the mountain might receive her -- that unnamed, unnameable pool harbored in its secret bosom.
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.

was and on
He was thinking of Rittenhouse and how he had left him there, to rock to death on the porch of the Splendide.
The Gap looming before him -- the place where had confronted Jack English on that day so many years ago -- was his exit from all that had meaning to him.
Someone evidently was on duty there.
Then he was on his way at a gallop.
The bullet had torn through the flesh just above the knee, inflicting an ugly gash that was forming a pool of blood on the floor.
Mike tested the leg and found that he was able to hobble around on it.
Then he went on to the Cheyennes and told them that the Sioux was goin' to move up.
In the brief moment I had to talk to them before I took my post on the ring of defenses, I indicated I was sickened by the methods men employed to live and trade on the river.
What else he said was lost in the rattle of gunfire on all sides.
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.
It was to him that Barton had sent Carl Dill on Dill's release from the prison.
When they reached their neighbor's house, Pamela said a few polite words to Grace and kissed Melissa lightly on the forehead, the impulse prompted by a stray thought -- of the type to which she was frequently subject these days -- that they might never see one another again.
He had to depend on himself, since he was invariably miles and hours away from others.
He'd started a fire and put coffee on, and now was busy at the work board of his chuck wagon.
He'd put on his old brown corduroy coat and it was already soaked.
He was puffing on a cigar, and he was turning up his coat collar against the rain.
No man laid a hand on him, but the threat of violence was there.
I found a trooper once the Apache had spread-eagled on an ant hill, and another time we ran across some teamsters they'd caught, tied upside down on their own wagon wheels over little fires until their brains was exploded right out o' their skulls.

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