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Page "adventure" ¶ 181
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They and were
They crawled through the north fence and came on toward him, and now he saw that both were young, not more than nineteen or twenty.
They were dirty, their clothes were torn, and the girl was so exhausted that she fell when she was still twenty feet from the front door.
They were running from something.
They were a pair of lost, whipped kids, Morgan thought as he went to bed.
They passed ranches that were framed dark gray against the black hills.
They were tethered, army style, on stable lines.
They bawled questions that were not answered in the uproar.
They weren't sleeping, of course, but they thought they were doing him a favor by pretending.
They expected greater things from him, regardless of how trying the circumstances, and they were disappointed.
They were going to town, and they were both excited.
They were free.
They were in a fight, outweighed in both numbers and money.
They were sitting on their heels, rider-fashion, over by the still empty calf wagon.
They were considering it gravely, neither seeming to like what he planned.
They were silent for a little while, each looking glum.
They were all good men.
They were headed straight for each other on a collision course.
`` They were supposed to meet Thor at nine PM for a conference concerning the ad campaign for their soap, a new angle based on this SX-21 stuff ''.
They were married over the week-end, though he was easily sixty and she could not have been even thirty.
They were west of the Sabine, but only God knew where.
They were engulfed by the weird silence, broken only by the low, angry murmur of the river.
They were already swollen to bursting.

They and about
They got tin cups of coffee from the big pot on the coosie's fire, rolled and lighted brown-paper cigarettes, lounged about.
They had never seen a tultul but they had heard about it from their fathers ''.
They know little about their machinery beyond mechanical details.
They never troubled themselves about us while we were playing, because the fence formed such a definite boundary and `` Don't go outside the gate '' was a command so impossible of misinterpretation.
But I suspect that the old Roman was referring to change made under military occupation -- the sort of change which Tacitus was talking about when he said, `` They make a desert, and call it peace '' ( `` Solitudinem faciunt, pacem appellant ''.
They were repelled by his noisy newspapers, his personal publicity, his presumptuous campaign for the Presidential nomination, and by the swelling cloud of rumor about his moral lapses.
They did not worry about `` experience '', because experience thrust itself upon them.
They laughed and, true to national form and manners, never talked long or solemnly on any subject at all, but some of them worried out loud about short memories and ghosts.
They had never seen one before and had expressed a curiosity about it.
They were an old fat couple ( as Linda Kay described them to herself ), a thick middle-aged man, and a girl about ten or twelve.
They looked so formidable, however, so demanding, that I found myself staring at them in dismay and starting to woolgather again, this time about Francesca and her husband.
They quote about the same mass threshold as that of the U.S. apparatus, but a momentum threshold about 40 times greater.
They talked and wrote much about the elemental functions of the body.
They arrived in Washington about the same time during the early postwar years: Kennedy as the young Congressman from Massachusetts ; ;
They understood and teased me a bit about it.
They all mean well, have great promises to make when they are about to go home, but drinking is their sickness.
`` They won't talk about who gave the information.
They had learned, both of them, about Abraham Wharf.
They borrowed a typewriter, raised about $2,000 in contributions, hired a secretary, persuaded a couple of young men to join them for almost no pay and began mailing out a collection of unstapled leaflets that they called Guideposts.
They were covered with tiny white blossoms, their scant roots clawing at the stony ground, and wild birds darted in and about and through them so they were nearly alive with the rustle and cry.
They are about to do so at any moment as it is.
They even talked about Lucille down at the Young Christians' League where I spent a lot of time in Bible classes and helping out with the office work for our foreign mission.
They were good-living religious people, and I can truthfully say I never heard them spread any gossip about anybody.

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