Word: crept
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While insanity crept over the land, writers produced more children's literature than ever before or after--which suggests an interesting connection between madness and tales for children. At least two famous eccentrics, Lewis Carroll and Edward Leary, were well known authors of fantasy...
Shortly after dawn one day last week, three Arab terrorists, dressed in khakis, blue windbreakers and gym shoes, crept into the sleeping Israeli village of Qiryat Shemona (pop. 17,000) near the Lebanese border. Armed with bazookas, grenades and submachine guns, they shot their way up to the top of a four-story apartment building, firing indiscriminately into one apartment after the other. As sirens sounded and townspeople scurried for shelter, Israeli troops rushed to the scene. When the shooting stopped four hours later, 18 Israeli men, women and children-as well as the three terrorists-lay dead. At least...
...restlessly in their car near the Yablonski home in Clarksville, Pa., and waited for the lights to go out. The gunmen slugged whisky and beer, then tossed the empties-covered with fingerprints-into the snow. After midnight, said Vealey, he and the two others broke into the house and crept into the bedrooms. "They were all asleep," he testified. "Martin had the .38 revolver, and I had the rifle. I heard Joseph Yablonski making a gurgling sound after Martin shot him. I shot two or three times more to make sure he was dead...
When he looked at the exposed leg, a broad grin crept over his clean-shaven face. Oblivious of the girl's tortured movements, he beckoned his assistant over to the bed. "Mira," he said, and began to laugh. "El trabajo del brujo." The work of the witch. He pointed to the streaks of tobacco dye that covered the bruises on the girl's leg. An expert in herbal medicine in the girl's village had applied the tobacco in line with an ancient tradition that prescribes herbal cures for injuries of all kinds. The girl, her leg still swollen with...
...darkness just before dawn, police silently began closing in on the sleeping village of Cicala (pop. 1,913), perched in the desolate mountains of Calabria at the southern tip of Italy. As the armed men crept into position behind walls and over tile rooftops, the villagers were suddenly awakened by barking dogs. Even before the police knocked on his door, Antonio Mancuso, 35, a local carpenter, knew it was over. "No," he shouted, "I won't open." An instant later he changed his mind and surrendered docilely...