Word: doored
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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CONSIDERING the surroundings, the plaque on the office door does not appear particularly foreboding: two chessboards dominate the lacquered shield, overshadowing the more traditional military insignias. Nor does the name beneath the plaque sound too threatening: the Studies Analysis and Gaming Agency (SAGA), you think, sounds like a fun place, perhaps the headquarters for a bunch of pudgy high-school kids who spend their afternoons at board games while their mesomorphic friends are outside playing touch football. But then you think again about the surroundings, which are the Pentagon, and about the people behind the door, who are generals...
...until I try to leave the party early and am blocked at the door by an armed Israeli soldier that I realize that this is all a scheme designed to get us into the shelters. Once again, the kibbutz leaders do not want to alarm the rest of us by telling us the truth. It is not long before the first Palestinian rockets begin to explode nearby...
...ones I'd ever known were my freshman proctor and his wife, and the only thing I knew about their religion was what I learned the time they invited my freshman roommates and me over for dinner. We brought a bottle of wine and, when the proctor answered the door, he looked at us sternly and said that Mormons never drink...
...hadn't given much thought to Mormons since, but, as I looked at the building, I got a sudden urge to go inside. At least it would be dry. Walking in the front door, I found myself in a large, empty lobby. The carpet was the deep, thick kind that absorbs most noise, the kind that you sink into as you walk across it. On the far side of the lobby sat a short, squat old man wearing a freshly pressed three-piece suit and tightly gripping a cane. As I walked in, he looked up at me eagerly...
...climbed the staircase, an inexplicable feeling of paranoia gripped me. With this nervousness reaching a peak, I walked through a large door at the end of the stairs and found myself face-to-face with a grandmotherly woman. Her gray hair carefully set, she had a kind, unwrinkled face. A badge on her chest proclaimed, "Sister Wood." Warmly grasping my hand, she told me how glad...