He owns he was wrong.
Each day he typed what he composed.
He sang loudly as he walked along.
He declared that he was innocent.
He skinned his knee when he fell.
If he could frown, he would.
Prose, he said simply.
He wins people's hearts.
He bruised her feelings.
He touched the telegram.
But he grew cunning.
He evinced great sorrow for what he had done.
He is too voluble; he discusses his emotions.
He vomited all the food he had eaten.
He can pass the exam if he makes an effort.
He admitted that he was an illegal immigrant.
I do "he said softly."
He refuses to baptize her.
He monopolizes the laser printer.
Is he a mouth breather?
He left the picture unfinished.
"He said he will not go, but I say he shall."
He leaned his back against the stern and he knew he was not dead.
When he couldn't get what he wanted openly and honestly, he resorted to low cunning.
Pleasantly self-deprecating, he acknowledges that he is not always right. But he usually is.
Remind yourself what you know to be eternally true about God: he is good, he loves me, he is with me, he knows what I'm going through, he CARES, and he has a good plan for my life.
He said that if he owned an airline, he would now be diversifying into other modes of transport.
He is a salesman, a marketer, a merchant, and he always thought he could tell Starbucks' story best.
He seems invincible again, but he may not have quite the motivation he brings to the majors.
He could extract little from the wording of the letter, but the spirit he thought he knew.
He heard the eagerness and, though he was almost ten years older than Geoffrey, he suddenly felt inadequate.
He is the worst worker here.
