Word: facing
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...quarters in various Cambridge rooming houses were constantly littered with papers and books, many of them cast face down on the floor open to the spot where he had stopped reading. He scrawled illegibly on yellow typewriter paper which lay scattered over his desk, bed, chairs, and floor. Five hours sleep was his maximum; he often got much less. Wolfe cared little for his appearance. He went to classes unshaven and unbathed; financial conditions restricted his supply of clothes. It didn't bother him: "I lived in a kind of dream at first, a species of nightmare--at last...
Success was a long time in coming. The Guild rejected Welcome to Our City, and Wolfe remained steadfast in his refusal to trim it to a practical length. For six years he lived as a vagabond, teaching sporadically at N.Y.U., and roaming over the face of inter-war Europe. At times he was exultant, but often hopeless and despondent. From Brussels he wrote: "At 23, hundreds of people thought I'd do something. Now, no one does--not even myself. I really don't care very much...." Finally in 1929 Look Homeward Angel was published, and Thomas Wolfe came into...
...from a distance in the musical. To the movie-viewer, Miss Verdon's lines are plain enough except for the aging ones, which remain well hidden until the last. And when she moves about, as she does so well, her facial makeup has a tendency to shift, giving her face an appearance not unlike that of lumpy oatmeal...
...looked at the Vagabond's ashen face. There were tears in his eyes. He cleared his throat, blew his nose, and went on. "After that they came thick and fast. Sometimes the phone rang before I had relinquished my grip on the newly-cradled receiver. Marrowitz, Marrowitz, Marrowitz, roared in a tumultuous crescendo inside my skull. Finally I fled into the unknown morning, vaguely seeking surceace in Sever Hall with Uzbek Studies 229. It was ghastly--so ghastly I cannot talk about it. The obscene rites that there transpired, as registered on my fear-crazed brain by my blear-hazed...
...said, startled. "It's you. I didn't see you." He paused, then sighed tremendously. "Well, you might as well know. You'd see it soon in my face if I didn't tell you. I am no longer the Vag I was; I am utterly unmanned. I have just been to class. Worse than that, I have, as a glance at your watch will inform you, been to a nine o'clock class...