But he knew his brother well enough to understand the deal.

Why did I have to wait until he died to know my brother?

He knew my brother and I loved him, as did so many others.

I knew my brother, too, better than you ever could.

Or perhaps it was simply that I knew my brother too well.

Knowing his brother, there were only two things he'd be running from.

I think of him sometimes, a lost brother known only through a family story, and it makes me sad.

The dead man's sister obviously didn't know her brother well enough to account for all of his friends.

They had become separated and no man knew his brother.

"He ought to know his brother well enough not to think that."