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Page "adventure" ¶ 767
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There and was
There was more to this than Jones had told him.
There was no one but me.
There was a ragged volley.
There was only one place where Jake Carwood's description had gone badly awry: the peace and quiet.
There was brush, and stands of pine that no grass could grow under, and places so steep that cattle wouldn't stop to graze.
There was an artificial lake just out of sight in the first stand of trees, fed by a half dozen springs that popped out of the ground above the hillside orchard.
There was no chance.
There was no moon.
There a dozen giant monitors played their seventy-five-foot jets of water against the huge seam of tertiary gravel which was the mountainside.
There was only one place where the mountain might receive her -- that unnamed, unnameable pool harbored in its secret bosom.
There was a peculiar density about it, a thick substance that could be sensed but never identified, never actually perceived.
There was some idle talk, a listless discussion of this or that small happening during the day's drive.
There was to be no gunplay.
There was a light in Black's front room, but drawn curtains prevented any view of the interior.
There was no lock on the door, only an iron hook which he unfastened.
There was raw fury in his eyes, and the veins of his neck were swollen.
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 not enough room to make the usual vertical bomb run.
There was, of course, no way for the other planes to get by them.
There was a blur just under my focus of vision, a crash ; ;
There had been a good second or two during which my muffler had been blowing out, and now I was certain I'd seen her somewhere before.
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.

There and no
There had been no sign of a rifleman and no track or trace to show that anyone had been near.
There were no tracks of either hoofs or boots.
There were no less than six or seven saloons in Ganado, not counting the lower class dives, all vying for the trade of celebrating miners and teamsters.
There was no valley like this on your map.
There was no real sign of the river now, just a roiling, oily ribbon of liquid movement through muddy waters that reached everywhere.
There was no doubt that Herr Schaffner meant every word of what he said.
There was no reply so he shoved it open with his foot and stepped inside.
There is no room for error or waste.
There are almost no fictional treatments of the industrialized south ''.
There is no more `` plot '' than that ; ;
There is no justification for such misrepresentation.
There is no socially existential answer to the question.
There is no selectivity ; ;
There is no necessity, I suppose, to assert that Mr. Faulkner is Southern.
There is another kind of ardor, a quiet, sure devotion to the fundamental decencies of human life, but no angry utopian contentions.
There were no reasons for such suppositions then.

There and time
There isn't much time.
There is little time for the men in the command centers to reflect about the implications of these clocks.
There was one time, however, when his face clouded and he suddenly blurted, `` Why did my brother commit suicide ''??
There is a second feature of the influences of literature, good literature, on emotional life which may have some special value for our time.
There was no time in the short Mexican encounter to evolve a solution but the area provided a proving ground for new departures in the near future.
There was good reason for Gen. Taylor to make an inspection trip at this time.
There was just too much time.
There was a hell of a noise this time of morning.
There were times now, like this, when she lost control of the time count and moved freely back and forth into three generations.
There was little enough time to contemplate them, however ; ;
There was a time some years ago when local taxation by the cities and towns was sufficient to support their own operations and a part of the cost of the state government as well.
There will come a time in a basement shelter when the radiation has decayed enough to allow use of the whole basement.
There was a time when, if a man wanted to purchase a boat, it was necessary for him to be able to produce a sizeable amount of cash before he could touch the tiller or wheel.
There is no better way to waste time than trying to install a furnace in a finished Af closet.
There comes a time in the lives of most of us when we want to be alone.
There is a parallel to this tendency in the assignment of time in long-known hymn tunes.
There is only one Hardy style, but in the earlier poems that style is only intermittently evident, and when it is not, the style is the style of another poet, or of the fashion of the time.
There was a question-and-answer gag that went around at that time: Q. `` Who'll carry the Forty-second and Forty-third wards ''??
There is no accounting of his movements in this long gap of time which covers the early hours when Mrs. Borden was killed.
There was also the fact that by the time he meets Mr. Khrushchev, the President will have completed conversations with all the other principal Allied leaders.
There seems to be an unfortunate assumption that an hour of Chicago-style jazz in prime evening time, for example, could not be justified without the trimmings of a portentous documentary.
There is no reason why most theatergoers should not have a pretty good time at `` Donnybrook '', unless they are permanently in the mood of Enright when he sings about how easily he could hate the lovable Irish.
There would seem to be some small solace in the prospect that the missile race between nations is at the same time accelerating the study of the space around us, giving us a long-sought ladder from which to peer at alien regions.
There would be time enough, perhaps the Old Man reassured himself, to pay the devil his due.

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