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It was too much for a single person to control, and Diocletian needed a lieutenant.
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was and too
He found that if he was tired enough at night, he went to sleep simply because he was too exhausted to stay awake.
He was too old -- when he passed up and through the corridor of pines that lined the trail he could see ahead, he was passing from life.
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.
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.
Having persisted too long in deliberate ignorance and denial of the forces that threatened her, Pamela was relieved now to admit their potency and to be taking definite steps toward grappling with them.
He hated them too much to understand -- the people of this isolated law-unto-itself world that was Lord's world.
Her heart, her maternal feeling, in fact her being was too busy expressing itself, as quietly thrilled by this sight of her Nicolas curled asleep under a blanket, in a park like a scene from Poussin.
He speaks your language too, for he is the grandson of a chieftain on Taui who made much magic and was strong and cunning.
Keith was on his feet because he didn't care at all about life any more: Penny on her feet, proudly, because she cared too much.
was and much
Her face was very thin, and burned by the sun until much of the skin was dead and peeling, the new skin under it red and angry.
Such ranchers as Coble and Clay and the Bosler brothers carried him on their books as a cowhand even while he was receiving a much larger salary from parties unknown.
True, she was my Aunt, married to an Uncle related to me only by marriage, but why she had married a man twice her age, and more, perhaps, I did not know or much care.
His advice, his voice saying his poems, the fact that he had not so much as touched her -- on the contrary, he had put his head back and she had stroked his hair -- this was all new.
Yet he did drop his badinage with the ordinary country girl as much in deference to the Grafin as acknowledgement that here, indeed, was something special.
There was a measure of protection in its concrete walls and ceiling, but the engineers who hastily installed it were well aware that concrete is not much better than prayer, if as efficacious, when a direct hit comes along.
Thus, to cite but one example, the Pax Britannica of the nineteenth century, whether with the British navy ruling the seas or with the City of London ruling world finance, was strictly national in motivation, however much other nations ( e.g., the United States ) may have incidentally benefited.
We get some clue from a few remembrances of childhood and from the circumstance that we are probably not much more afraid of people now than man ever was.
It was a brilliant debut, so much so indeed that it aroused a new vitality in the younger poets, as did Byron's Childe Harold.
Years ago this was true, but with the replacement of wires or runners by radio and radar ( and perhaps television ), these restrictions have disappeared and now again too much is heard.
That is to say Gabriel's fundamental law had been so much modified by this time that it was neither fundamental nor law any more.
During the decade that followed, the common man, as that piece put it, grew uncomfortable as the Voice of God and fled from behind Saint Woodrow ( Wilson ) only to learn from Science, to his shocked relief that after all there was no God he had to speak for and that he was just an animal anyhow -- that there was a chemical formula for him, and that too much couldn't be expected of him.
was and for
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 knew who was riding after him -- the men he had known all his life, the men who had worked for him, sworn their loyalty to him.
Now, here was something of obvious importance to me, yet when I reached for the tickets he snatched them away from my hand.
It was, I felt, possible that they were men who, having received no tickets for that day, had remained in the hall, to sleep perhaps, in the corners farthest removed from the counter with its overhead light.
No one was behind it, but in the rear wall of the office I noticed, for the first time, a door which had been left partially open.
At one and the same time, she was within it but still searching for the drawbridge that would give her entry.
That was the day that he had practically mopped up the main street of Big Sands with Aaron McBride, field boss for the Highlands Oil & Gas Company.
Somehow more terrible than the certainty that he was about to die was the knowledge that Lord would probably not suffer for it: the murder would go unpunished.
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