Word: fragrantly
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Last week the baron and about 130 of his brainy countrymen were at Sukhum, on the Black Sea coast of the Caucasus. Well-fed, well-paid and well-treated, they live in a comfortable manor house, surrounded by palm trees and fragrant eucalyptus gardens. A mile away is their laboratory, where they work with a roughly equal number of Russian colleagues on an intensive program of atomic research...
...passenger car every window was propped open with a stick of kindling wood. A breeze blew through, hot and then cool, fragrant of the woods and yellow flowers and of the train. The yellow butterflies flew in at any window, out at any other, and outdoors one of them could keep up with the train, which then seemed to be racing with a butterfly. .. . . Once the [train] stopped in the open fields and Laura saw the engineer ... go out and pick some specially fine goldenrod. . . . Sometimes like a fuzzy caterpillar looking in the cotton was a winding line of thick...
...that no green thing, not even a blade of grass could grow; had . . . trimmed all the trees and driven away every animal and every bird-in spite of all, spring was still spring in every town. . . . The birches, the wild cherry trees and the poplars unfolded their gummy and fragrant leaves, the bursting buds of the lindens expanded, the jackdaws, the sparrows and the pigeons were busy and joyous over their nests. . . . Plants, birds, insects and children rejoiced. But man, mature man, ceased not to cheat and to harass himself and his fellowmen.-Leo Tolstoy in "Resurrection...
...gasoline lantern; the outhouse at night; no radio; no telephone; "bats hanging upside down in the cellar, flying in the open bedroom windows . . . making my skin undulate in horror"; dropping-boards and chicken lice; wet, cold, soggily miserable winter, "and spring so warm, so lush and fragrant that I wanted to roll on my back and whinny...
Edith's adoptive parents were Matthew Pierre, an ornithologist, and his wife Valerie, a horticulturist. Their home, "Wildwood," was a warbling, fragrant inferno of prize flowers and bird-feeding stations, surrounded by a rusty iron fence. Matthew was a cold-souled, pipe-fondling dispenser of gently eviscerating irony. Valerie's "pale unearthly face was . . . like some silky autumn pod." They were about as capable of love as a stuffed finch and a glass calla lily. Edith was twelve when she came to them, 21 when their death freed her. In all her years with them...