Word: fragrantly
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Eleven dollars will buy a one-way air ticket from Athens to Crete, and still another unseen aspect of the Greek way: Candia's fragrant food bazaar, the Minoan ruins near Knossos, and the high Lasethi plateau, crammed with hundreds of white-sailed windmills. In any of the little plateau villages, a traveler can buy his lunch merely by hailing, say, the butcher, who will put a table outside and provide wine, bread and cheese, while curious, good-natured Greeks in baggy trousers, sashes, boots, brocaded vests and fierce mustaches gather round and ask the stranger's name...
...tune on his sweet-potato pipe and quotes Dante's Inferno as his mind ebbs away "in the lake's foul bottom, plunged in dung"-a grim elegy that unites all their fates. A sentient lover (Tadeusz Janczar) pretends "we're walking in a dark and fragrant wood," but his blonde, tough-minded mistress (Teresa Izewska) shatters the illusion tersely: "We're walking in [obscenity]." The lovers' goal is to reach the sewer's outlet in the Vistula; when they do, a grid of iron bars blocks them. Still the hero, who has lost...
...Boun Oum and his government, composed of six relatives and numerous friends, had flown south to Paksé in the lush Mekong River valley to celebrate an annual two-day festival at the crumbling temple of Wat Phou. Prince Boun Oum offered flowers and personally supervised the lighting of fragrant sandalwood sticks...
...Zanzibar, where 75% of the world's fragrant clove supply is bought and sold, the British protectorate was pushing ahead to hold elections for a new government that will govern its own internal affairs. Kenyan and Ugandan politicians were already campaigning for their elections, which will enable both territories to claim the rights of self-government. There was a minor check a fortnight ago when Buganda's Frederick ("King Freddie") Mutesa II seceded from Uganda and declared Buganda's independence. Nobody noticed much change. Yawned one official: "The Baganda seem to be pretending that they have independence...
Perhaps the most fragrant laurel of all belongs to Mr. Johnston himself, whose poems have appeared all too infrequently in Cambridge publications. It would be folly to attempt to describe the delicacies of Mr. Johnston's style, his skill in blank verse, his felicity of rhyme; I must pretermit all this, even decline to mention the phrasing of his narrative, the ingenuity of his conceit. I cannot, however, refrain from remarking with highest approbation--upon his obvious familiarity with the Lesser Celandine, a flower whose possibilities have never been adequately explored; and his accurate and steadfast belief in Nymphs...