Word: denning
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...Ayatullah insisted that the hostages were not protected by diplomatic immunity because the U.S. embassy was not a proper embassy. Said he: "It was a den of espionage, and they are spies. We reject all the clamor by various sections abroad that these people should be freed because they are embassy staff and members of a mission." Emboldened by the regime's new expressions of support, the student militants turned their fire on Ghotbzadeh. In Communique 75, they accused him of "talking too much." Said the militants: "The Iranian nation should be ashamed to speak more than necessary...
Time is running out on the "early season jitters" excuse. The winless women's basketball team last night dropped its fourth game in a row, this time to UNH, 66-48, at the Wildcats' den in Durham...
INSTEAD UPDIKE plunges us into a scrutiny of the alienated characters. In "Love Song for a Moog Synthesizer," for instance, he binds us in the "spirals of indignation" of a Cub Scout den mother. Throughout the collection of short stories, Updike stalks the problem of human disconnectedness from all imaginable angles, realistically fleshing it out in "Domestic Life in America," abstracting it in his geometric "Problems," sketching a symbolic outline in the opening piece, "Commercial," recasting it as classical tragedy in "Augustine's Concubine." But he refuses to hunt out the solutions in the diseased scenarios. His "maimed and fanatic...
Leonard Jarvis, 75, now a senior vice president with Shearson Hay den Stone, remembers Black Tuesday as "a bloodbath. It was horrible." In the days after the crash, he says, several of his friends committed suicide, one by jumping off the Daily News Building, another by leaping from his commuter train. One man asked a friend of Jarvis how someone could kill himself without pain; a drug was mentioned and the next morning the questioner was dead. Two weeks later the man who advised him shot himself. "They went one after another," says Jarvis. "They couldn't stand...
...took him by surprise. It crept up behind him. It crushed him by the weight of its blow: the need for a plot. He left his typewriter and consulted the books in his den. Certainly one of them should provide a plot worth appropriating. He leafed through his books--all manuals. He had airplane manuals, car manuals, weapons manuals. And of course, a tattered sex manual. His head filled with story ideas, confidence renewed, he returned to his writing desk...