Word: frailness
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...glimpse him in his latter years, he could have been any elderly man. He played golf, braved the shops sometimes, but mostly pottered about at home in suburban Adelaide. There was nothing to suggest this frail man was perhaps the finest sportsman who ever lived. His public life ended long ago. He would never comment on the latest trifle. He rarely graced social functions, even those that honored him. But few people felt deprived, much less slighted. Most knew that this was the right course for a great man: it ensured his spell would never be broken...
...since. Is he in another camp? Did he flee to his sister's home in Surat, to the south? Is his body lying lifeless under some mound of bricks and stone?or was it dumped, unrecognized, on a funeral pyre, like thousands of others? The couple, small and frail in their mid-fifties, are trapped somewhere between hope and despair. Every morning, Karsanbhai heads out in search of Vinod, circulating among the NGO camps, government emergency centers and military information booths. He calls Surat to check if Vinod has arrived there. Sumati, meanwhile, busies herself in the tent...
Perhaps, but the dreams are surely sweeter than the realities today. The guerrillas have called Arafat the Old Man since Beirut, but now he really is old. He will turn 72 in August, and some around him are whispering that he is too frail, distracted and out of touch. The tantalizing Israeli and American proposals are now off the table. Recriminations have begun, with Arafat's negotiators squabbling over who screwed up. Arafat's more ambitious men are preparing for the coming succession struggle...
...wife was expecting. The chosen few who got to show at Stieglitz's galleries were not members of a stable but rather part foster children and part co-explorers. "Remember my fight for O'Keeffe and Marin is my fight for you as well," he wrote to the frail and self-doubting Demuth. "We're all in one boat unsinkable...
...tone that Crosby had used to project sincerity for a quarter century. But when he's not pushing the blarney, he gives subtle glimpses of the decay that age and alcohol etches in a man. His face is fallen, creased with defeat, his posture hunched and haunted, his demeanor frail. Behind the old Crosby charisma was a self-confidence so pure that he didn't have to push it in America's face; but here he's playing a man with so little confidence that his face anticipates reproach. He's not the star...