1 Early the next morning I ran out-of-doors to look about me.
2 He did not say a word all morning, but sat with his rosary in his hands, praying, now silently, now aloud.
3 When I went downstairs in the morning, I found grandmother and Jake packing a hamper basket in the kitchen.
4 He had never been in a railway train until the morning when we set out together to try our fortunes in a new world.
5 Antonia said she didn't believe it; that the dogs probably lapped up the dew in the early morning, like the rabbits.
6 When I went down to breakfast that morning, Jake and Otto came in white as snow-men, beating their hands and stamping their feet.
7 Presently grandfather came in and spoke to me: 'Jimmy, we will not have prayers this morning, because we have a great deal to do.'
8 I remembered that in the hurry and excitement of the morning nobody had thought of the chickens, and the eggs had not been gathered.
9 One morning, during this interval of fine weather, Antonia and her mother rode over on one of their shaggy old horses to pay us a visit.
10 On the morning of the twenty-second, grandfather announced at breakfast that it would be impossible to go to Black Hawk for Christmas purchases.
11 I can remember exactly how the country looked to me as I walked beside my grandmother along the faint wagon-tracks on that early September morning.
12 One morning the two big bulls, Gladstone and Brigham Young, thought spring had come, and they began to tease and butt at each other across the barbed wire that separated them.
13 I had seen ice on the little horsepond that morning, and as we went through the garden we found the tall asparagus, with its red berries, lying on the ground, a mass of slimy green.
14 When Antonia and her father got into the wagon, I entreated grandmother to let me go with them: I would gladly go without my supper, I would sleep in the Shimerdas' barn and run home in the morning.
15 Whenever one looked at this slope against the setting sun, the circle showed like a pattern in the grass; and this morning, when the first light spray of snow lay over it, it came out with wonderful distinctness, like strokes of Chinese white on canvas.
16 I remember how the world looked from our sitting-room window as I dressed behind the stove that morning: the low sky was like a sheet of metal; the blond cornfields had faded out into ghostliness at last; the little pond was frozen under its stiff willow bushes.
17 Perhaps the glide of long railway travel was still with me, for more than anything else I felt motion in the landscape; in the fresh, easy-blowing morning wind, and in the earth itself, as if the shaggy grass were a sort of loose hide, and underneath it herds of wild buffalo were galloping, galloping.
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