I suppose they're both a little artificial.
"They're not identical twins," he answered.
They're lying on your bed.
They're not going to kick us out.
"They're not going to throw you out," he insisted firmly.
"But what if they're wrong?" his mother asked.
If they're still following us.
I don't think they're with us any more.
The ranchers around here say they can always count on him to help when they're in a bind.
I guess they're not as tame as they look.
They're questions you're going to have to answer for yourself.
The children; they're the important ones.
I hear they're jumping into the boat up north.
They're looking into the break in at Julie's apartment and the abduction in Vermont.
They're gone for good.
You think they're in there?
They're putting out an announcement to every vamp east of the Mississippi River.
Quite a few, and they're pulling in everyone from the east coast to Miami and Orlando.
They're at the safe house off Biscayne.
Why, they're better than piglets--or even milk!
They're cold and flabby, like cabbages, in spite of their prettiness.
"Ha, ha!" chuckled the old cab-horse; "they're not 'Gurgles,' little maid; they're Gargoyles."
Never mind; they'll get Eureka, whatever they're called.
They're uglier than the Gargoyles.
They're nothing but birds, said Mr. Hardin.
They're all like that; one can't unmarry.
They're led about just for show! remarked another.
Yes, I'd send them on in front, but no fear, they're crowding up behind.
"They're always in love with someone," he thought of Sonya and Natasha.
Go over that way, they're there.