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Page "Victor Gollancz" ¶ 13
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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 were about a mile off ; ;
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 like
They brought to it all the odors that clung to men like themselves, that of their own sweat, of campfire smoke, of horses and cattle.
They are preoccupied riding herd on control panels, switches, flashing colored lights on pale green or gray consoles that look like business machines.
They were not diplomats or jazz musicians, or even organizers of reading-rooms and photo-montage displays, but rugged capitalist entrepreneurs like Henry Ford, Hugh Cooper, Thomas Campbell, the International Harvester Co., and David W. Griffith.
They had risen from humble beginnings by their own diligence and astuteness, they were unfettered by the codes that bound nobles like Othon or even the older generation of clerks like Hotham, and they were working for an end that their opponents had never even visualized.
They were like two strangers.
They were strays of every kind -- university students and journalists, Village hangers-on and barflies, taxi drivers and editors and unknown poets, as well as friends like Elinor Wylie and William Rose Benet, the Van Dorens and Nathan, Rebecca West and Hugh Walpole and Osbert Sitwell, Laurence Stallings, Lewis Browne, William Seabrook, Arthur Hopkins, the Woodwards.
They like it and would supply most of the capital because of the long term leases by strong oil companies.
They wanted to see what his back felt like -- the General's.
They vex us and perplex us but generally do not divide us like the issues which follow the problems.
They can even be rather grand, like Edward Land's monument to the astonishing success of Polaroid.
They learn to like these so well that it isn't surprising to hear that one boy tried the oats he was feeding his horse at chore time.
They like to be dominated.
They charged into the enemy like wild men.
`` They don't like it if I do anything away from home.
They may even dismiss it from their minds as something that concerns only the `` ecclesiastical Rover Boys '', as someone has dubbed them, who like to go to national and international assemblies, and have expense accounts that permit them to do so.
They suggested several new foods, and usually I found them good, except the sweets, which I think I could learn to like.
They kept drifting apart and merging again in his mind like some minute form of life on a microscope slide.
Thornburg added in a lower voice but Andy overheard, `` They act more like a jury than an audience ''.
They remained close together, their air trail wiggling like serpents traveling side by side.
They would like to convey the notion something is being done, even though it is something they know to be ineffectual.
They begged Grandma to let them put a bed in the kitchen for her, but Grandma said she was getting too old to sleep in strange beds and be seen with her teeth out, and that she hoped to die in privacy like a Christian and if the Lord willed it to be of pneumonia than it would have to be that way.
They know from their researches into television and the movies that knights in the middle ages had beautiful flowing haircuts like Little Lord Fauntleroy, and only the villains had beards.
They raced and maneuvered for war, swinging their horses in single file and then abreast like cavalry.

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