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Word: chillingly (lookup in dictionary) (lookup stats)
Dates: during 1960-1969
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Usage:

...Washington we entered Friday morning loomed grey and chill. To our bleary eyes, that was only fitting. Yet, as we drove along, our spirits began to pick up; and by the time we reached midtown. we were exulting. The streets were crawling with freaks! Painted cars, beads, all the paraphernalia; smiles, laughter, peace signs, camaraderie. Even the March of Death, staggered and otherwise unimpressive at that hour, was vibrating with our kind of people. As Ferlinghetti might say, the air was alive with love. How could anything go wrong...

Author: By Sandy Bonder, | Title: On the Far Side of the Monument | 11/20/1969 | See Source »

...certain urbanity. Then the Vice President rose to propose a toast to the guest of honor. Some people, Agnew began, found his manner of speech alarming, but there was no need to worry about that now: "All of you with tightened sinews and constricted sphincters can relax." A distinct chill settled on the room. One White House adviser slowly dropped his head to the table and cupped both hands over his ears...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Nation: SPIRO AGNEW: THE KING'S TASTER | 11/14/1969 | See Source »

THIRD DAY. A chill, gusty rain whipped through the trees. "This is good," said Fred. "The deer's vision will be dimmed by raindrops on their eyelashes." Toward nightfall, as the downpour subsided into a fine mist, Fred spied a big buck munching on ground hemlock 80 yards away. Slowly, silently, Fred positioned his razorhead arrow and watched for five, ten, 20 excruciating minutes as the buck worked his way toward the clearing. But suddenly, he jerked his head, wriggled his nose, and was off into the bush. "Damn!" exclaimed Fred as he huddled over the camp stove. "With...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Hunting: Of Bear, Bow & Buck | 11/14/1969 | See Source »

...fact it will be the constant in our lives-the taste of dampness like stale cigarette smoke in the morning, the dead leaves in the Common like soggy Wheaties underfoot, the chill that seeps under doors, permeating our clothes, our sheets, our skin. But the sound, most of all, will pervade existence; it will be the insistent insidious counterpoint to clammy kisses and perspiring embraces, to lectures and marches and meals, until we find ourselves praying for a cataclysm, an orgasmic deluge to end the monotonous drizzle...

Author: By Nina Bernstein, | Title: Cabbages and Kings The Rain | 11/13/1969 | See Source »

...COLD in Great Barrington. The sun, as if shining through a prism of ice cast a brittle, pale yellow light on the oval field where the crowd had gathered, and the chill, biting wind that whistled through the trees encircling the lot seemed to bode ill. But the expected trouble-an attempt to disrupt the dedication ceremonies-did not come and was soon forgotten as the crowd took stock of itself and the ceremonies...

Author: By Lee A. Daniels, | Title: America DuBois Memorial Park | 10/25/1969 | See Source »

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