The three-story building looked big enough to cover a city block.
Maybe Sarah was making up a story to cover up for Yancey.
Maybe there was nothing going on, but gut instinct said there was a story here – something big.
The house was a two-story building with a wide wraparound porch.
I'm not sure who started that story, but it floated around here for my last two years of high school.
Get to the lowest story, in a central location away from hallways and windows.
I could make up some story; maybe I'm writing a magazine piece.
I left a message, from Tommy, his so called fishing buddy, saying I had a fish story for him and requesting him to call as soon as possible.
Dusty was prepared for the worst, but Darian's story left him speechless.
The first story of the building was overflowing with vamps.
"It's a much longer story than I have time for," he replied.
The Watchers, however, were a different story entirely.
They're acting out some bizarre kid's story for the cancer kids, Han said, ducking his head into the office.
Her story just didn't make sense.
The only other soul she'd touched had told her its life story in a blink of the eye, terrifying her.
What's the story on sweet Lydia?
They spouted some cock-and-bull story that their mother always wanted them to have the property.
Deidre's careful story didn't even make it to her tongue.
Gabriel smiled, entertained as much by the story as he was by Cora's visible exasperation.
It is a sad story, but if you will try to restrain your tears I will tell you about it.
But don't you lose heart, Jim, for I'm sure this isn't the end of our story, by any means.
He told his wonderful story to the king; but the king would not believe him.
Of what other story does this remind you?
The American Revolution was not the story of the "have nots" overthrowing the "haves" in a bid to increase their place in society.
Every dead soldier has a face, a story, and a bereaved family.
Everything Miss Sullivan taught me she illustrated by a beautiful story or a poem.
'I thought about my story in the autumn, because teacher told me about the autumn leaves while we walked in the woods at Fern Quarry.
Meanwhile my host told me his story, how hard he worked "bogging" for a neighboring farmer, turning up a meadow with a spade or bog hoe at the rate of ten dollars an acre and the use of the land with manure for one year, and his little broad-faced son worked cheerfully at his father's side the while, not knowing how poor a bargain the latter had made.
Every one has heard the story which has gone the rounds of New England, of a strong and beautiful bug which came out of the dry leaf of an old table of apple-tree wood, which had stood in a farmer's kitchen for sixty years, first in Connecticut, and afterward in Massachusetts--from an egg deposited in the living tree many years earlier still, as appeared by counting the annual layers beyond it; which was heard gnawing out for several weeks, hatched perchance by the heat of an urn.
From time to time she smoothed the folds of her dress, and whenever the story produced an effect she glanced at Anna Pavlovna, at once adopted just the expression she saw on the maid of honor's face, and again relapsed into her radiant smile.
"Charming!" whispered the little princess, sticking the needle into her work as if to testify that the interest and fascination of the story prevented her from going on with it.