Mr. Reynolds was indifferent to the subject.
Mr. Barnett was a good father.
Mr. Giddon, I am old enough...
Mr. Giddon heard him and kicked him off the place.
I wish Mr. Giddon had not.
And what about Mr. Giddon?
Mr. Marsh eyed her frame skeptically.
She smiled sweetly at Mr. Marsh.
Mr. Marsh was in a coma and attached to life support machines.
Mr. Marsh is the one who is responsible.
Unable to locate him, Cassie had finally agreed to leave the twins with Mr. & Mrs. Hertz, their neighbors.
Mr. Rinehart regarded them both with obvious confusion.
Why they found it so amusing that Mr. Cade was a recluse evaded her comprehension.
Of course, Mr. Cade hardly seemed the seductive type and she certainly wasn't going to encourage it.
Apparently she found Mr. Cade not only attractive, but also irresistible.
Obviously it had been a long time since she had seen or talked to Mr. Cade.
Let me see what I can find on grateful Mr. Cooms.
"Mr. Brennan asked me call you," I said by way of introduction.
Betsy suggested Howie should pay a visit to Mr. Merrill Cooms.
Quinn set Howie up for late the prior afternoon at Mr. Cooms' home.
"Is Mr. Hugson your uncle?" she asked.
Please, Mr. Wizard, may I eat just one of the fat little piglets?
What time is it, Mr. Wizard?
"Why not, Mr. Wizard?" asked Jellia, bowing low.
"Never mind, my little fellows," said Mr. Lincoln "I will put you in your own cozy little bed."
"Do you remember those birds?" said Mr. Speed.
In a few minutes Mr. Lincoln joined them.
"I understand," said Mr. Webster.
In a few weeks there came a kind letter from Mr. Anagnos with the comforting assurance that a teacher had been found.
Among the many friends I made in Boston were Mr. William Endicott and his daughter.
Mr. Endicott told me about the great ships that came sailing by from Boston, bound for Europe.
A little story called "The Frost King," which I wrote and sent to Mr. Anagnos, of the Perkins Institution for the Blind, was at the root of the trouble.
Mr. Balcom, a promising young architect, designs it on the back of his Vitruvius, with hard pencil and ruler, and the job is let out to Dobson & Sons, stonecutters.
It comes on apace; my sumachs and sweetbriers tremble.--Eh, Mr. Poet, is it you?
A few years before I lived in the woods there was what was called a "winged cat" in one of the farm-houses in Lincoln nearest the pond, Mr. Gilian Baker's.
Does Mr. Grinnell know where he himself is?
Mr. Pitt, as a traitor to the nation and to the rights of man, is sentenced to...
And tell Mr. Dolokhov that I won't forget him--he may be quite easy.
"You were saying, Mr. Staff Officer..." continued the colonel in an offended tone.