1 She hated him for his composure.
2 I hate cotton tops on silk stockings.
3 She hated the man, and she was afraid of him.
4 She would have hated him had he been meek about it.
5 The children's parents either laughed at him or hated him.
6 Carol hated him for his manner of assuming that they two had a mysterious understanding.
7 She hated herself for it, but she hoped that no one saw her go into the Bjornstam shanty.
8 The first day she hated him for the tides of pain and hopeless fear he had caused; she resented his raw ugliness.
9 From the other end of the room, a matron among matrons, Carol observed Myrtle, and hated her, and caught herself at it.
10 She hated herself and the town's indifferent cruelty when she saw Bea's radiant devotion to both babies alike; when she saw Miles staring at them wistfully.
11 For years Carol had been little sister to Vida, and had never in the least known to what degree Vida loved her and hated her and in curious strained ways was bound to her.
12 Most of the men who came to the flat, whether they were army officers or radicals who hated the army, had the easy gentleness, the acceptance of women without embarrassed banter, for which she had longed in Gopher Prairie.
13 The Dauntless lies to us about the Nonpartisan League, the lawyers sting us, the machinery-dealers hate to carry us over bad years, and then their daughters put on swell dresses and look at us as if we were a bunch of hoboes.
14 Without exactly describing the scene, by her power of lustful imagination the woman suggested dark country places apart from the lanterns and rude fiddling and banging dance-steps in the barn, then madness and harsh hateful conquest.
15 She was silent when Vida raved that though America hated war as much as ever, we must invade Germany and wipe out every man, because it was now proven that there was no soldier in the German army who was not crucifying prisoners and cutting off babies' hands.
16 During their first autumn she had smiled over his affection for his hunting-coat, but now that the leather had come unstitched in dribbles of pale yellow thread, and tatters of canvas, smeared with dirt of the fields and grease from gun-cleaning, hung in a border of rags, she hated the thing.
17 She was reflecting that he was a rustic, that she hated him, that she had been insane to marry him, that she had married him only because she was tired of work, that she must get her long gloves cleaned, that she would never do anything more for him, and that she mustn't forget his hominy for breakfast.
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