Or Sentence Examples

Do you want to go or not?

I don't like either the one or the other.

You're going to have a little brother or sister.

Why, they're better than piglets--or even milk!

Or was it the other way around?

Right or wrong, the decision had been made.

So what do you say, yes or no?

Two or three times we stopped to rest under a tree by the wayside.

It was now or never.

Sometimes he would take care of the whole flock while the shepherd was resting or eating his dinner.

Do you want the job or don't you?

One does not dress or act like a lady.

The top of the buggy caught the air like a parachute or an umbrella filled with wind, and held them back so that they floated downward with a gentle motion that was not so very disagreeable to bear.

What have they done for Louis XVII, for the Queen, or for Madame Elizabeth?

These soldiers guarded the streets of the town; they would not let any one go out or come in without their leave.

Alfonso looked to be a year or so older than Jonathan.

They've brought things to such a pass that there are no carts or anything!...

I don't know how many times or how many ways I can say I'm sorry.

I always knew when she wished me to bring her something, and I would run upstairs or anywhere else she indicated.

The idea of making love in a strange bedroom was disturbing enough, but with only a door between them and the children, locked or not, it didn't feel right.

Nothing can get in or out.

The problem wasn't Dulce or his father.

Please record this or listen carefully.

A simple yes or no would have sufficed.

And because human nature changes either not at all or very slowly, people make the same choices over and over again.

I don't know if he is actually trying to hide things, or simply doesn't know how to initiate the subject.

I don't want to spoil them - or anyone else to spoil them.

What else did he know or suspect?

The birds were silent, watching her to see if she was friend or foe.

Probably not or he would have used it.

Whether things in the future stay the same as they are today or change from what they are today, both are understood in terms of the current reality.

He could easily overpower her in a struggle or outlast her in a chase.

Would you like some coffee or something?

I can't see any of the girls running the ranch... or wanting to, for that matter.

Were his comments genuine, or simply a way to get her to like him?

Well, whatever it is, it probably won't go down too well with Howard or Len.

Or was Brandon the one with the problem?

Was she glad or upset?

But then, she hadn't approved of his drinking or the way he treated Lori either.

I would never stop you from going to college or doing anything else you wanted to do.

I figured that if Giddon was using a pseudonym, he would have to either do his banking with his own name or fill out some kind of paperwork to do business under another name.

You can't understand that or how I feel.

Or have you changed your mind about leaving tomorrow?

She had always been a recluse at heart, often declining a social outing with her friends so that she could be alone with a book or her writing.

We'd better go in the back way or Mom will have my hide.

She had some money tucked away in a cookie jar in the kitchen and she intended to pay him something, whether he liked it or not.

It was either an original or an excellent copy, signed by Andy Gordon.

Who is asking, Andy Gordon or Yancey Giddon?

Anyway, if it's company you want, why not take Julia or Rachel?

I might have a stroke or a million other things.

Let's go get a hamburger or something.

She didn't like seeing someone else suffer the way she did every time she thought of Cody or Jake or others dying.

Either you'll die or you won't.

Or maybe peeling your skin off?

Or maybe they didn't care.

I don't suppose you'll put in a good - or bad - word for me.

I make the predictions in this book not to be sensational or controversial.

Did he arrange to have Alex out of the way, or was he simply taking advantage of the situation?

Do you want to talk to Len, or Howard?

Mertz said she told him she didn't know who Yancey was or what he did.

I'll be in town in a day or two.

Or he was already a step ahead.

Or was it a nightmare only?

I don't want to see you hurt here or killed.

Or, sweet Edith wasn't so sweet and bashed Josh's head in and left him in the mine.

After you have written three or four words, you can put them together, can you not?

He hadn't thought about a sitter before now, or hadn't thought about how much he would pay?

The idea that Brandon felt relieved wasn't all that flattering - or comforting, for that matter.

He's never out more than ten to twenty minutes at a time and three or four sessions make a heavy day.

I'd say you have few choices; get protection, get a gun or head for the hills.

I'd use the wrong towel or leave a dish out, and then you'd be threatening to kill me again.

Am I speaking simply enough, Dusty, or do I need to dumb it down more?

She had no phone, no way of contacting Dusty or Jenn or Darian.

It'll make or break him, and I don't feel like he's anywhere near ready.

My batteries are low-- think I can Travel in an hour or so.

Or they'd have razed the whole mall.

Her gums were irritated, reminding her she hadn't eaten or drunk water in a while.

I gave her a week to make Gabriel fall in love with her, or I get her soul.

We lived a long way from any school for the blind or the deaf, and it seemed unlikely that any one would come to such an out-of-the-way place as Tuscumbia to teach a child who was both deaf and blind.

Everything Miss Sullivan taught me she illustrated by a beautiful story or a poem.

Whenever anything delighted or interested me she talked it over with me just as if she were a little girl herself.

He pushed forward, feeling stirred, but not yet sure what stirred him or what he would say.

Just because it upsets me doesn't mean I don't want to know - or that you shouldn't tell me.

I don't know why she didn't ask for it before - or why she didn't tell me about the baby.

It makes me feel small when you keep things from me - like you don't trust me, or you think I'm not mature enough to handle it.

With the exception of the trail, of course, but he never appeared to be in any hurry – coming or going there.

He thinks its weaponry or something.

We may stay there a night or two.

Take pictures or something.

She didn't want to disappoint him or Damian and couldn't help but dread the conversation to come.

He'd always found something wrong, something evil or bad, no matter how small the inclination.

In hindsight, he wondered how he'd ever been fooled or why he'd settle for Claire when there was someone like Sofia out there, who'd love him for him and not for his title.

She'd been quiet for a day or two, going everywhere with him, a companion in his head who was beyond the touch of his angry master.

When he came to see the stars or watch the sunset, she didn't cry.

He didn't know how to leave the underground prison, or he'd take her outside to see them.

She didn't know if he'd welcome the gift or if his recent ordeal left him more jaded toward his past.

Or I'll give you to Dusty.

When spent, she lay still, willing sleep or death to take her.

The thought pierced her thoughts, and she sagged against Two, not caring if she survived or not.

She was his current waltzing widow—first choice to fill his dance card when he wasn't surfing the net, tracking down an auction or garage sale or devouring a mystery novel.

Please stop me if I become redundant or boorish.

She had no such experience or excuse.

Or whatever, she paused, as if waiting for his response, before continuing.

He didn't know why they broke in the first place or how to fix them if it happened again.

I can spend time researching it or I can try to duplicate.

All people need rest, even if they are made of wood, and as there is no night here they select a certain time of the day in which to sleep or doze.

After many adventures I reached Omaha, only to find that all my old friends were dead or had moved away.

No one attacked her or told her to stop.

She shivered, not wanting to imagine what Darkyn was capable of or how hard it might be to outmaneuver him to leave Hell.

She'd challenged Gabriel's new mate to win him over in one week, or one of them lost their souls.

A bad deal by a deity or its mate will ruin the universe.

But, if an Immortal or human or deity corners you, and you aren't able to summon me, you need to know how to defend yourself, Darkyn started.

Waiting for him to snap or yell as he had when she arrived to Hell, she touched him timidly with her other hand to begin exploring the ridges of the scars on his chest.

No part of his stance or piercing look was welcoming and yet, she felt the urge to cross to him.

She'd have to be dead-dead which could happen next week or in a millennium.

Or are you just tormenting me for the fun of it?

Tell me what you want or just leave me alone!

I won't let you think there's a chance this isn't real or permanent.

This place, him, her situation – they couldn't be, or she was going to go insane.

Uncertain if she understood him or not, Deidre studied him.

If you leave, you won't stay away long or go far.

She'd been on the verge of dying, discussing how her impending death forced her to decide whether she wanted to live or mourn.

Darkyn's daughter appeared frail and gaunt, her skin a shade or two darker than the white pillow beneath her head.

Or I'll never leave Hell.

Maybe she'll learn a thing or two about being human.

It didn't make sense that nothing could save the girl, or that Darkyn was capable of trying to.

Or he was obligated.

Surprised, she sought some sign he was testing her or baiting her again.

Her first thought was that he was sending her to Death as a means of torturing her or at least, nailing home the point that he had won this round with Gabriel.

Did he trust her or assume she knew better than to run?

You're a human mate, or were originally, which means I can't hurt you.

If you win or lose, let it be on purpose.

Deals made while the negotiator is distracted or emotional are easier to win, he said.

I don't expect them or anyone else to make deals with you for me, she said, hurt as much by his words as the thought that there was no one outside of Hell who wished her well.

She held no sway in what happened or played no larger part in their twisted doings.

Any thought she had of trying to make it here faded whenever she saw the desert or thought about how Darkyn manipulated her.

But she didn't have horns or a tail or anything.

Deidre braced herself for his violent reaction or words.

He had almost been kind, or at least, as kind as he was capable of being.

Her heart was breaking again or maybe, her hope crumbling.

This felt like another of his tests or maybe, his way of closing another door.

I had to make a choice without knowing what would happen or even if you would be there for me in the morning.

She'd show him she wasn't afraid to back down in bed or anywhere else.

Whether or not you take my deal, I'll help her.

She'd never before been able to tell when someone lied to her or when they were manipulating her.

He cannot enter Death's domain or other areas of the Immortal world without invitation.

He handled weapons as if they were extensions of his body, never dropping them or misplacing a strike.

Deidre never felt she belonged in the mortal or Immortal worlds, because she didn't.

Darkyn didn't restrict her movement or who she saw, but the idea of seeing Gabriel again so soon after their meeting yesterday disturbed her.

He leaves no room for failure or my hope that certain things will change.

It had nothing to do with you or how I felt.

Basically. Or would've been, if Darkyn hadn't decided to honor the informal deal he made with her.

Darkyn is not an easy person to understand or live with, and I'm still not certain at all what to think of him at times.

An instinct wriggled, one she didn't want to acknowledge or deal with.

He shared some of his power or whatever your deities do.

He didn't do or say anything bad.

She had no idea if Darkyn sought her out when she was upset because he thought she might be in danger or because he was concerned about her being with her ex.

No part of her wanted to reveal what Gabriel told her or that she meant it when she said she would find a way to help him.

You had no trouble ripping him from me or me from my own life.

It didn't create trust or affection or hope or love.

I do not wish them well or happy.

Deidre wasn't certain if there was any affection for his daughter, though his persistence in healing her was a sign of either care or obligation.

She wondered if it was because of the thought of her seducing someone else or because of her triumph at winning his affection, even if he beat her at every other thing.

He made no move to bite her or kiss her, simply studied her, his thumb stroking the pulse in her neck.

She didn't wait to see if he stayed or went but walked out of her room.

If you try to alert anyone or escape, I'll peel your skin from your bodies and watch you scream, Harmony warned.

And you'd better come too or you'll never find your way out of this hole.

It was unclear if this action was prompted by Patsy Boyd herself or just some do-gooder trying to clear her desk of problems.

Sprinkled in the assortment of oldies were a few exceptions—two couples both named Dawkins, and Pumpkin Green, a young man taking a break from his cross country hike to California in support of the homeless, or so he claimed.

Or why they were here in the first place, as they expressed zero interest in the beauty of the area; Ouray's main attraction.

We're not talking about cats, or Fred.

Cynthia thought a second or two, careful with her answer.

I didn't plan it or nothing.

I've been all over and most of it looks the same from a bus or a bar.

Or maybe she just wants to prove to herself someone actually loves her enough and cares about her enough to punish her.

Maybe something to do with her mother—like her mother mistreats her or beats her?

She acts more sorry for the woman, or exasperated, than afraid of her.

I can't tell you to break or keep promises, but I can sense you want to talk about this problem.

Nobody knows where the man is and even if he's been in there a long, long time, someone must care about him, or at least maybe did back then, when it happened.

They made me wait an hour or so knowing what was coming.

They knew there was little more they could do or say to console the lonely child.

We'll be back in an hour or two.

While Dean was fully exonerated from any wrongdoing in the unfortunate affair, either Fitzgerald failed to agree with the determination or simply despised being judged wrong.

The State of Colorado sent me over, seeing as there's no experienced under-sheriff or deputy.

And because some little snot-nose has a vivid imagination, or thinks it's fun to tell whoppers, I'm supposed to go traipsing off in some god-forsaken mine on the taxpayer's expense on a treasure hunt?

Now, if you're acting sheriff or whatever the hell your position is, it's your damned job to follow through.

When the meal ended and the dishes were put to bed, the three withdrew to the parlor, now empty of guests who were either dining uptown or waiting in line to do so.

I might have pulled your leg a time or two, but we've got along pretty good over the years keeping stuff to ourselves.

Mostly meant the old man was in jail again, or they was looking to find him and put him there.

They might still want to ask me a question or two.

Whether it was Pumpkin's advice or the sunny day, Cynthia's mood lightened as they drove.

Whether it was wedding plans, baby names, or ways to kill her son, Dean didn't know.

They sat there and pretended to agree, or at least consider the alternatives and ramifications as presented.

What do you do at age thirty, or, if you're lucky, forty?

Dean was sure that, deep down, she thought whacking at a ball or chasing one someone else clobbered was an extended children's game and certainly not a worthwhile profession.

He's an adult, or nearly so.

I'd better get cracking on that, knock on doors or something.

The Lucky Pup is one of a dozen or so digs scattered around his property up in Governor's Basin.

Dean had trouble remembering who was who but all were of like mind in their affection for the old man who turned up the charm meter a notch or two.

No, she didn't remember who'd called or even if they left a name.

If this here skull wasn't broken, maybe someone would think it was the real McCoy—at least in the dark or from a distance.

The couple was hoping to get on the road ahead of one or more of the feuding Dawkinses, who might be moseying to the same destination.

My guess is it came from a finger or toe.

Either that or scare us badly.

Without a pump or two spares, they accomplished the same thing.

It's the heart of the season and still early enough to hitch a ride with a Jeep tour or a tourist.

I like staying in a house, or a bed and breakfast—places where you meet people.

It's hard to say there's no connection with the bones until we're sure there is a third Dawkins, who he or she is, and what the suit is all about.

Finding another Dawkins in one of Ouray's dozen or two lodging places shouldn't be much trouble for an ace detective-almost sheriff.

Like it or not, he'd best get cracking.

If you're going to return to chasing bad guys, you'd better think about getting in shape or you won't be catching any of them.

It looks like a hole in the ground that hasn't been touched in thirty years or more.

He kept writing all one summer—ten or twelve letters.

The woman listened patiently, or so Dean assumed by her silence.

She may be a first class bitch—but if there isn't a legal custody fight or the child isn't reported in danger or grossly neglected, it's none of our business.

He could lie and tell them he was a police officer or sheriff and maybe squeeze some tidbit of information about recently released mom Patsy, but surely Fitzgerald would find out and tank his election ambitions, if those aspirations weren't already six feet under.

With the DNA you could tell whose finger it was, if you happened to have the rest of the guy's body or a few squirts of his liquids.

It doesn't smell as if it was cleaned or preserved.

Absent one of those gizmos to see around corners or a newspaper with a hole in it to held high like all the really cool spies do, Dean tried the direct approach.

The top was still off, allowing additional room, but he still felt three or four trips lay ahead.

Ma thought mammograms were for old ladies or women with big boobs.

Or whoever's ass ends up owning the mine, Dean thought, but he simply waved away the apology.

Or, more intriguingly, perhaps one of the auction's bargain foot lockers contained the remains of the actual skeleton!

In addition to the five we bought, there were five or six—maybe seven more.

In the eyes of the Deans, it was looking more and more as if person or persons unknown did in fact take the original bones and switch them for the theatrical imitations Fitzgerald dragged out of The Lucky Pup mine.

The warmth of the evening chased out Bird Song's guests—all non-dieters probably queuing up for ice cream, or maybe simply promenading the Victorian village streets as alpenglow painted the surrounding peaks in pink.

Or perhaps the theater props were kept somewhere just before the auction— after they were hauled out of the storage quarters.

But he's far too young to have had any involvement with the Dawkinses, the mine, or the skeleton.

He and his buddies finished first six or seven times in a row.

She said her mother or someone took her calling card but she didn't explain.

Or, papa got an answer to his newspaper ad and saved a shotgun shell by doing the bashing himself.

She was nearly as tall as he, a natural blonde or the customer of a very good beautician.

Did you read this somewhere or do you just have a vivid imagination?

Or maybe it's just because daddy didn't ask their permission first.

Or maybe it goes back to your junior prom.

But that doesn't mean we didn't love each other or have a super twelve years together.

Depending on provocation—any or none.

I just don't know who or how or why they were taken.

Is she a friend of the family or just someone you're humping on the side?

There, amid a cluster of floats, Boy Scouts and ballerinas, four of Fred's lady friends were in the final stages of hanging bunting about a beautiful old touring car whose vintage or name Dean couldn't identify.

Besides, Dean thought, Randy—single or married—probably has more sense than to get knocked on his ass by a zillion pounds of water pressure aimed at his body.

It was a young man's—or woman's—game, although Dean doubted he'd have joined the contest, at least not willingly, even in his careless years.

Bird Song was empty, or so they thought, when they returned.

Long pants or grubby clothes weren't necessary, as Dean had no intention of entering the mine.

Are you going to continue to play detective and grill the poor woman, or is this a fun trip?

Cynthia scrunched close to Dean's ear, trying to hear the conversation, and offered a word or two as well.

Either Cynthia's presence relaxed her or she'd decided David Dean was not a combatant from the enemy camp.

It's private land, not national forest or park lands, and even though you or the Dawkinses own all this, it's not posted, except for the mine tunnel.

I wonder if that shot, or whatever it was, came from the owner of that blue sweater on his Jeep seat?

When the phone rang for the fourth time, Dean assumed it was either a call for reservations or more discussion on the upcoming New Jersey wedding plans, but Cynthia held the phone against herself and called to her husband.

Darkness moved in quickly now, and he knew he'd soon need help and more light than a simple flashlight to locate a wreck, if in fact a vehicle had plunged to the valley floor, a hundred or more feet below.

He had no idea of the depth of the gorge or the length of the rope, but he prayed it was sufficient.

He wasn't sure if she had seen it, too, or she was afraid he was returning to the road without her.

Have a shot or two of whiskey.

Hey, you're a witness and I want your statement, whether you like it or not!

Lydia was not as tall as Jennifer Radisson, but only by an inch or two.

He wiped his prints and replaced it, wondering if Joseph or Ginger Dawkins was responsible for the gunshot at the mine.

There was polite applause, a little less then followed Fitzgerald's words, or so thought Dean.

One of Mrs. Worthington's friends taped the debate and Fred and Cynthia listened to it while Dean nursed his ego, and an ale or two, on the front porch.

I think there's a good chance it was either her or Fitzgerald.

Pumpkin and the Westlake fellow are over with Mrs. Langstrom, or at the funeral home.

He can't bear to pass up an antique bargain—buying or selling.

A woman identified herself as Mrs. Fryatt and asked if Martha had telephoned today, or if we'd heard from her, or from her mother, or anyone else concerning Martha.

That or Dean's announcement about running his fingerprints.

Asking about Josh-the-miner is like asking about Joe-with-a-moustache or John-who-drives-a-snowplow.

He was around Ouray for ten years or so.

I'm surprised Ed's newspaper ad didn't say, 'Dead or Alive!'

The runners might encounter any kind of weather, including freezing temperatures, fog, rain, or snow.

While safety is closely monitored, the challenge is not for the untrained or naive.

Dawkins, Sr. had never hired another mine manager after Josh and never so much as mentioned the Lucky Pup after that time—to his sons or his wife.

Or did he come back to Ouray and do something about it?

They were only here four or five years in the late fifties, Charlie said.

All the guests are staying put, with no check-ins or check-outs, Cynthia said as she and her husband sat down to lunch.

So far, except for stomach growls an hour or so before mealtime, Dean wasn't complaining.

Certainly he has no ties to Josh Mulligan of forty years ago, or the Dawkins, or the Lucky Pup mine.

Common sense tells us the obvious is usually where the truth rests and the obvious is either Fitzgerald or someone in the Dawkins family.

I guess he was 'high profile'— king of the clan or some nonsense like that.

What does all that nonsense have to do with vodka or Billy Langstrom?

Some hacker might be able to, or the FBI maybe.

While Pumpkin Green was not at this week's mass, or probably any other service within miles of Ouray, Billy Langstrom's partner in love Melissa attended.

Fred had told him the young girl lived between divorced parents, always at odds with one or the other.

You'll look around when you get a search warrant, or hell freezes over—whichever comes first!

It was the wrong thing to say— or do—to Cynthia Dean.

The WWW news was either negative or tardy because each took turns bickering at the other until Dean was ready to toss the entire family.

He's out to get you, or to use me to do it, or get both of us.

She didn't want to talk whilst I was there, figuring maybe the line was tapped or something.

My grandparents didn't stay long—a year or two—and then they moved to Denver.

I suppose Paul recognized my name, either before or soon after we first met, back when I was a teenager.

There was nothing they could say or do about Martha's situation except to keep their telephone nearby and pray for the best.

Perhaps the body is much younger—only ten or twenty or thirty years old.

There was a sheriff's vehicle parked out front, but Dean wasn't sure if it belonged to Fitzgerald or Lydia.

David Dean harbored serious doubts about leaving Lydia Larkin's apartment without either contacting the police or calling an ambulance—or maybe a lawyer.

There was no sign of Fitzgerald, Lydia Larkin, the jailer, or Fred O'Connor.

He'll be back in twenty minutes or so.

They think Patsy Boyd stashed the kid with a relative or a buddy and the girl's okay.

I can't see where there's near enough evidence to nail Fitzgerald over Billy's death, or that there ever will be.

I don't even know the decade the guy died, much less who he was or who might be connected to him.

Maybe 'metalman' is some sheet metal worker or some heavy metal rocker.

I was kind of scared they might shoot us or something, but nothing bad happened.

A quick telephone call to Jake Weller produced no further word on whether or not Fitzgerald had reported as summoned to Denver.

She seemed to consider whether or not to answer.

No one knows where the hell he is, or what he's plotting.

God, maybe it got infected or something!

The voice echoed from somewhere to the left, or was it the right?

I knew one way or another the bones would be made public.

It was a week or so before his car was found.

You are a deity without a domain or source of power, which means you have nothing I could possibly want, Darkyn said.

Wynn wasn't about to ask why it was secret or spend too much time in Hell with the violent creature before him.

All she had to do was practice for a day or two and then find Gabriel.

She struggled to recall what her real mother looked like or the day she became Death or even the day she met Gabriel.

She'd worn either sandals or tennis shoes.

Without her power, she wasn't able to sense him or the danger he posed.

Demon Law offers you no protection, Death's mate or not.

There were too many emotions for her to identify them, but one of them – or all of them? – caused the tears.

The overload of emotions, the inability to read Gabriel's mind to find out what he thought, so she knew what to say or do.

Rather than taking souls and risking a run-in with him or his dealers, the demons snatched the dead or killed whomever they wanted and brought them here, where they'd have more time for soul extraction.

Yeah. No word yet on whether or not there are more.

Or maybe explain why you didn't even tell me before seeking him out?

The demons can't access it, but an Immortal or dealer who goes through Hell can.