Word: damp
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Dates: during 2000-2009
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Recession, damp, shorter days and soaring unemployment: there's precious little to cheer Britons this fall. Luckily, a rollicking tale of a Labour grandee and a toffy Tory involving the betrayal of secrets and the lure of obscene wealth is adding considerably to the nation's gaiety as each day brings fresh revelations about a series of encounters that took place on and around the Greek island of Corfu this summer...
...messy memory, rooted in warm doughy snacks, wrestling on a sunny lawn, and the hole left when the kids leave for college. Whiteread purposely absents these things, dislocating the dollhouses and drawing together their lines and levels. But placed in the museum, they evoke no nostalgia, only a minor, damp melancholy in a darkened room.—Staff writer Elsa S. Kim can be reached at elsakim@fas.harvard.edu...
...Haider, 58, was on his way home from a political event near the provincial capital of Klagenfurt just after 1 A.M. when he lost control of his vehicle on damp pavement while overtaking another car. He skidded off the road and plowed into a concrete pole. The car flipped repeatedly before coming to rest almost 40 yards away, according to police. Haider was wearing a seat belt but died almost instantly of massive injuries to the chest and head, police said. His neck may have been broken and his left arm torn from his body. He is survived...
...What? Yes. Yes. She felt as though her insides were ripping, palpably giving way. Her flesh expanded masochistically, straining forward as it sensed the approach of the ravenous tongues of flame, exploded as she felt rather than smelt the heavy aura of manure and wet straw and damp flesh burst into and flood the hall. He had come. Yes. He had conquered. A wave of liquid fire consumed her body: the first. Again, a wave. It was an ocean that begged to be released. Her bosom, her legs, her whole being was aglow. Another. Another. Yes. Yes. The waves burst...
...Truth is an aspiration, not a possession,” I heard our president pronounce on a damp and dreary October afternoon last year. My stomach turned. Before my eyes was grand old Harvard on parade, splendidly arrayed in academic robes and bonnets, in all of its pomp and pageantry, installing its new president according to the customary prescription. Yet with a few derisive words about Harvard’s Puritan heritage from Drew Gilpin Faust and her counterpart at the University of Pennsylvania, Amy Gutmann ’71, that visible visible continuity—between the Harvard...