“Woodrow, I wish you’d relax,” Augustus said. “You can’t save me, and it would be a pity if we fought at this stage. I might kill you accidentally and them boys would sit out on the plains and freeze.” Call didn’t answer. He felt tired and old and sad. He had pressed the mare all day and all night, had easily found the river where the battle took place, recovered Pea Eye’s rifle and even his boots and shirt, found Gus’s saddle, and raced for Miles City. He had risked ruining the Hell Bitch—he hadn’t, though she was tired—and still he had arrived too late. Gus would die, and all he could do was keep a death watch.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“I like a town,” Lippy added. “It don’t have to be St. Louis, just a town. As long as it has a saloon or two I can get by. But I wasn’t meant to live out in the open during the winter.” Call knew the men were wondering, but he wasn’t ready to stop. Jake had said some of the most beautiful land was far to the north, near Canada. It would be a pity to stop and make a choice before they had looked around thoroughly.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“It seems a pity to shoot him,” Augustus said. “He fought a draw with a grizzly. Not many critters can say that.” “He can’t walk to Montana with half his skin hanging off his shoulders,” Call pointed out. “The flies will get on that wound and he’ll die anyway.” Po Campo walked to within fifty feet of the bull and looked at him.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“I don’t know whether to envy you or pity you, Miss Wood,” Clara said. “Riding all that way with Mr. McCrae, I mean. I know he’s entertaining, but that much entertainment could break a person for life.” Then Clara laughed, a happy laugh—she was amused that Augustus had seen fit to arrive with a woman, that she had stunned her girls by kissing him, and that Woodrow Call, a man she had always disliked and considered scarcely more interesting than a stump, had been able to think of nothing better to say to her after sixteen years than “How do you do?” It added up to a lively time, in her book, and she felt she had been in Nebraska long enough to deserve a little liveliness.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“I can’t read a dern track,” Pea Eye said. “Never could. But Deets can read ’em easier than I could read a newspaper. Iguess it’s Jake. It’d be a pity if it’s us that has to hang him,” he added, a little later.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“He just keeps wanting to marry you,” Zwey said. “Looks like he’d quit it.” Luke did quit, at that point. He lay in the wagon for four days, trying to get his breath through his broken nose. One of his ears had been nearly scraped off on the wheel; his lips were smashed and several of his teeth broken. His face swelled tosuch a point that they couldn’t tell at first if his jaw was broken, but it turned out it wasn’t. The first day, he could barely mumble, but he did persuade Elmira to try and sew his ear back on. Zwey was for cutting it off, since it just hung by a bit of skin, but Elmira took pity on Luke and sewed on the ear. She made a bad job of it, mainly because Luke yelped and jerked every time she touched him with the needle. When she finished, the ear wasn’t quite in its right place; it set a little lower than the other and she had pulled the threads a little too tight, so that it didn’t have quite the right shape. But at least it was on his head.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“No, señor, he is buried,” Po Campo said. “A victim of lightning.” “That’s a pity,” Augustus said. “He was young and had promise.” “It kilt thirteen head with one bolt,” Pea Eye said. “You never seen such lightning, Gus.” “I seen it,” Augustus said. “We had a little weather too.” Newt felt warm and happy, his clothes on and Mr. Gus back with the crew. The sky had cleared and the clouds that had caused the terrible hail were only a few wisps on the eastern horizon. In the bright sun, with the river crossed and the cattle grazing on the wet grass, and Lorena rescued, life seemed like a fine thing, though every once in a while he would remember Bill Spettle, buried in the mud a few miles back, or Sean O’Brien, way down on the Nueces—the warm sun and bright air had brought them no pleasure. Po Campo had given him a hailstone dipped in molasses and he sat licking it and feeling alternately happy and sad while the men got dressed and prepared to be cowboys again.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“Don’t drown,” he said. “Be a pity if you was to drown on your way to San Francisco.” It was clear he was angry—he hated to be denied, or to see her take the lead over him in anything. Lorena met his anger with silence. She knew he couldn’t stay mad very long.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“It does seem a pity you’re so independent, Jake,” Augustus said. “If you come in with us you could be a cattle baron yet.” “Nope, I’d rather be pore than chew the dust,” Jake said, standing up. Lorie stood up too. She felt her silence coming back. It was men watching her while trying to pretend they weren’t watching her that brought it on. Few of them were bold enough just to look straight at her. They had to be sneaky about it. Being among them in the camp was worse than the saloon, where at least she had her room. In the camp there was nothing she could do but sit and listen to the talk pass her by.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“These Irishmen have fine voices,” Augustus remarked. “It’s a pity there ain’t two more of ’em—we’d have a barbershop quartet.” “It would be a pity if you lost them horses while I’m off hiring the hands, too,” Call pointed out.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“All right,” he said, quickly sorting over in his head who should be assigned to do what. “These are mainly Wilbarger’s horses. The reason they’re so gentle is because they’ve been run to a frazzle, and they’re used to Texans besides.” “I’d catch one and ride him home, if I could find one that paces,” Jake said. “I’m about give out from bouncing on this old trotter you boys gave me.” “Jake’s used to feather pillows and Arkansas whores,” Augustus said. “It’s a pity he has to associate with hard old cobs like us.” “You two can jabber tomorrow,” Call said. “Pedro’s horses have got to be somewhere. I’d like to make a run at them before I quit. That means we have to split three ways.” “Leave me split the shortest way home,” Jake said, never too proud to complain. “I’ve bounced my ass over enough of Mexico.” “All right,” Call said. “You and Deets and Dish take these horses home.” He would have liked to have Deets with him, but Deets was the only one he knew for certain could take the Wilbarger horses on a line for Lonesome Dove. Dish Boggett, though said to be a good hand, was an untested quality, whereas Jake was probably lost himself.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“You may think it a pity,” Wilbarger said. “I can call it a blessing. I suppose you wrote that sign.” “That’s right,” Augustus said. “Want me to write you one?” “No, I ain’t ready for the sanatorium yet,” Wilbarger said. “I never expected to meet Latin in this part of Texas but I guess education has spread.” “How’d you round up that much stock without horses?” Call asked, hoping to get the conversation back around to business.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“Oh, well,” Wilbarger said, “why get down when I would soon just have to climb back up? It’s unnecessary labor. I hear you men trade horses.” “We do,” Call said. “Cattle too.” “Don’t bother me about cattle,” Wilbarger said. “I got three thousand ready to start up the trail. What I need is a remuda.” “It’s a pity cattle can’t be trained to carry riders,” Augustus said. The thought had just occurred to him, so, following his habit, he put it at once into speech.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

I pity Yim Neung for having no children but I'm not interested in her.
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Pity.
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586. It's a pity that the spitbox in the pit was hit and split.
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Pity. I had just ordered a drink from him.
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Here had we now our country's honour roofed, were the graced person of our Banquo present, who may I rather challenge for unkindness than pity for mischance.
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You may be asking right now how my father could be so cruel, how he could work young girls like that? Or you may think that I'm exaggerating, that self-pity has magnified our distress. I tell you, this is no exaggeration. And I tell you, my father had no choice. Or that any choice he had was so far in the past that there was no unraveling it. Years later, when we were grown, we caught a glimpse of his guilt, his bitterness over what he had done to us. "I couldn't afford n------," he told my sister Billie. "So I had daughters." At 6 o'clock, we rebuilt the chute. We opened the doors, and the 6,000 remaining turkeys, the sun now low in the sky behind them, walked through to the pen. We cleaned up. We ate supper. And we went to bed. That's the day we had before the night 3,000 turkeys died.
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- I pity you, Marion.
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