each day the hurt was a little duller, a little less poignant.

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.

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.

While five minutes ago the place had presented a scene of easy revelry, with Gyp Carmer a prominent figure, it was now as somnolent and dull as the day before payday.

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

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

As we expected, on the following day my Uncle was completely recovered and opened the store as usual at 10 in the morning.

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

The next day he was gone.

Fresh on his mind were events of the past day when his whole regiment was destroyed in the hills.

Directly opposite the door was a roaring log fire, a welcome sight on that bitterly cold day.

Sometimes he did this three or four times a day, for this Woman was almost always with him.

Once ( this was on the third day of school ) she kneeled down to pick up some books where they'd dropped on the floor and Jack looked up her dress -- at the bare expanse of incredibly white leg.

Jack walked off alone out the road in the searing midday sun, past Robert Allen's three-room, tarpapered house, toward the field where the other boys were playing ball, thinking of what he would do in order to make Miss Langford have him stay in after school -- because this was the day he had decided when he thought he saw the look in her eyes.

That was the day it ended.

The Rule of Law, historically a principle according everyone his `` day in court '' before an impartial tribunal, was broadened substantively by making it a responsibility of government to promote individual welfare.

It was a nice day, granted.

My curiosity was sharpened a day or two before the interview by a conversation I had with a well-informed teacher of literature, a Jesuit father, at a conference on religious drama near Paris.

Almost from that day, until his death, Olgivanna was to stay at his side ; ;

Next day, word came that Miriam was not going through with the divorce ; ;

This conference was held despite Stavropoulos' assurance to Adolf Berle, who was leaving the same day for Puerto Rico, that nothing would be done until his return on January 22, except that the Secretary General would probably order the list destroyed.

It was said that the Hetman plotted to take over the entire Hearst newspaper empire one day by means of various coups: the destruction of editors who tried to halt his course, the unfrocking of publishers whose mistakes of judgment might be magnified in secret reports to Mr. Hearst.

One day he assigned me to lay bare a `` plot '' by the Duponts to supply munitions to a wholly fictitious revolution he said was about to occur in Cuba.

Any lingering suspicion that this was a trick Al Budd had thought up was dispelled.

Both had blonde hair and blue eyes, and there was even a faint similarity of features.

There was more to this than Jones had told him.

He was thinking of Rittenhouse and how he had left him there, to rock to death on the porch of the Splendide.

The silence oppressed him, made him bend low over the horse's neck as if to hide from a wind that had begun to blow far away and was twisting slowly through the darkness in its slow search.

It was the night Clayton had tricked them in the poker game.

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.

The land over which he sped was the land he had created and lived in: his valley.

He was thinking that the way she had responded to his own kiss hadn't meant what he had believed it had.

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.

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

At the same moment Wheeler Fiske fired the rifle Mike had given him and another guerrilla was hit.

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.

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.

Next to him was a young boy I was sure had sat near me at one of the trading sessions.

The war captain had been badly wounded and was fighting to hold his seat.

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.