Word: forlorned
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...United States. "The background of England is infinitely richer," Mr. Aiken went on; "English society is cultured from top to bottom. There is more opportunity for the novelist to draw on human consciousness. The English country-side particularly appeals to the author. In America everything is rough, ready, uncouth, forlorn, and dilapidated. There is a feeling that American civilization is only temporary, to which England's age and historic and literary tradition offer a striking contrast. That is why literary figures such as J. G. Fletcher, T. S. Eliot, and Ezra Pound have taken up their residence in England...
Wombat. Near Sydney, Australia, a captive wombat,* the property of one Timothy Sermon, was chained to a post for the entertainment of visitors to Timothy Sermon's ranch. A lanky, nervous creature, this sly marsupial† spent his days in a hopscotch circular gallop, his nights in forlorn and ridiculous nightmares, or wild nostalgic visions. Last week, Timothy Sermon found his wombat, covered with dirt and excrement, his thin sensitive nose pushed far into the yellow loam, a suicide...
Like most children of the professional play world, to whom five minutes' cordial applause somehow connotes complete triumph over Fortune, and a crisp five-dollar bill in the hand the equivalent of Croesus' sceptre, she has arrived at old age forlorn. Her house in Paris is tenanted by people who for two years have eluded the rent collector. She is in this country in an effort to recover her sight. Her foster son has deserted her. Her jewels are pawned. She has only the memory of her contemporaries, whose past brilliance still can cause her cataract-dimmed eyes...
...Sejm assembles. Only Minister of Interior Slawoi Skladkowski sits, alone and forlorn, upon the Government bench. Opposition deputies stroke their beards in satisfaction, twirl confident mustaches, whisper that the Budget Bill will never pass. Once again they tear it to tatters in a furious debate. At last the President of the Sejm calls for the final vote...
Warily, with an eye to the judge, Freedman Norris approached his personal lawyer, Marvin Simpson, held out his arms. They embraced, kissed each other, cried. Bailiffs hustled the courtroom clear. Outside, the dead man's son was forlorn. . . . "I'm sorry for mother. It will hurt...