Word: bedstead
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Whiting's characterization reaches its peak with the Prioress. We first see her kneeling in prayer to God the Father like a child before her bedstead. Unresolved Oedipal problems combined with her throbbing sex drives cause her to fall in love with Father Grandier in her fantasy. When he refuses to become her Confessor, her love changes to hatred and she half-consciously destroys him with accusations. Soon the childishness that lingers in every woman, so pronounced in this neurotic, turns credibly and terrifyingly into hysterics...
...Applause That Stopped. The painting experienced even more vicissitudes than Rembrandt, ending up, according to legend, over a bedstead in a Dutch farmhouse. There, in the early 1800s, a traveling British art restorer named George Barker saw and picked it up for one shilling, which also included the price of bed and breakfast. Barker presented it to his patron, Lord Spencer. In 1915 it passed into the hands of Sir Herbert Cook for $168,000. Last week it was up for auction in London's Christie's auction house, identified simply as Item...
...wife tried to get her husband to rest quietly. Turning on her, he accused her and Russell Long of conspiring with his enemies. He became violent, had to be locked in his room. There was talk that he threw empty bottles through his window that night, and broke his bedstead. Finally, at week's end, he permitted a doctor to give him a sedative, and then, early one morning, he was carried on a stretcher into a white station wagon and driven to the airport for the trip to the Galveston hospital.* On the way, in his National Guard...
...Identity, fattened a bit by age and apparent prosperity, consists of a set of poems by Lyon Phelps, Harvard Class Poet of some time back, who recently gave a reading at the Poet's Theatre sitting on a stool in the middle of a brass bedstead...
...merely intelligent a way. For the play seems less limited for how much it leaves out of Shakespeare than for how much it puts in of Freud. Plainly, Hamlet was made for Freud, but popular Freudianism much less so for Hamlet. To put all its neuroses in one bedstead is to rob a character of his tangled richness, a story of its resonant depths, and to turn what T.S. Eliot called "the Mona Lisa of literature" into a simple blueprint. And by adhering to such things as soliloquies and ghosts, Cue for Passion never quite goes its own way either...