When they were closer and he saw that one was a woman, he was more puzzled than ever.

He was silent a moment, thinking he could use a man this time of year, and if the girl could cook, it would give him more time in the meadows, but he knew nothing about the couple.

There was more to this than Jones had told him.

I decided to see no more of the clerk until the processing of my papers was completed.

Unconcerned, indifferent, unmotivated, the forest was simply there -- fighting man's depredations with more abundant growth and man's follies with its own musical evening laughter.

He could move very quickly, she knew ( although he seldom found occasion to do so ), but he was more wiry than truly strong.

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.

It was to be nothing more than that.

No man's name brought more cheers when it was announced in a rodeo.

But he was more than half-drunk, and his faculties were dulled.

Over the rapidly-diminishing outline of a jump seat piled high with luggage Herry's black brushcut was just discernible, near, or enviably near that spot where -- hidden -- more delicately-textured, most beautifully tinted hair must still be streaming back in cool, oh cool wind sweetly perfumed with sagebrush and yucca flowers and engine fumes.

Johnson unwired the right hand door, whose window was, like the left one, merely loosely-taped fragments of glass, and Johnson wadded himself into a narrow seat made still more narrow by three cases of beer.

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.

Keith Sterling had looked down on the Brahmaputra more times than he could remember, during the war days when he flew over the Hump of the world, thinking it high adventure in those times before man was guiding himself through outer space.

This one was actually more of a `` near miss ''.

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.

Because he couldn't hear them, he was more convinced they were there.

He was the lawman who survived more gunfights than any other famous gun-slinging character in the book.

His bold eyes raked the woman, and a perceptive spectator might sense that there was more to their relationship than that of slave to owner.

He bounced exuberantly on the sagging bed and was even more delighted when Madame Lalaurie -- after closing the door -- showed the slave that the bed was designed for something other than slumber.

The girl was not more than 16.

In every war of the United States since the Civil War the South was more belligerent than the rest of the country.

He treats her like she was dirt.

The wind of their running was cold and wild, the horses were lathered and their manes streamed like stiff black pennants in the wind.

I was at once disappointed, although just what I had expected him to look like I could not have explained.

I felt certain that the director, like the afternoon clerk, seldom moved beyond the counter, that the hall, to them, was a jungle, a dark and unwelcome place.

Hague, like all who worked near the pits, was partly deafened from the constant assault against his eardrums.

It was a bold, dark castle of pine boughs that stood like a medieval fortress, eclipsing the sun and human time.

Donna was like he was.

A man like Jess would want to have a ready means of escape in case it was needed.

It was like hitting a sack of salt.

There was a feeling that this mission would be canceled like all the others and that this muddy wet dark world of combat would go on forever.

There was something about the contour of her face, her smile that was like New Orleans sunshine, the way she held her head, the way she walked -- there was scarcely anything she did which did not fascinate me.

For several weeks we eyed one another almost like sparring partners, and then one day Uncle was slightly indisposed and stayed home ; ;

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.

She was like charcoal, he thought -- dark, opaque, explosive.

There was no valley like this on your map.

The Bonaventure was quivering and lurching like an old spavined mare.

There was a wooden tower or derrick there, something like a ski jump ; ;

It was embarrassing to see strapping, blonde Brassnose comport himself like a child who talks about bogeymen.

At first, I thought he was out of his head, talking wildly like this.

Maybe he was only doing the best he knew how, like any of us.

His arms hung like empty shirt sleeves, and his mouth was slightly open.