Word: gated
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...large freighter The African Sun sat in its berth in East Boston's Pier No. 1. The sun was barely above the row of three-storied houses on the horizon, and the chants of over 100 picketers at the gate leading to the pier created clouds of misty breath. Longshoremen arriving at this early hour to unload the ship's cargo slowed down in their cars as they saw the demonstrators and sleepily took the leaflets handed them...
When he got to the starting gate, one of the officials looked at Gordon's skis and said, "Wait a minute." Adler had no safety strap. Last year that wouldn't have mattered, but the rules had been changed this year. Gordon told the officials that someone had told him it was OK down at the base lodge. No soap, said the starters. An altruist from New England College said, "Here, take mine." and Gordon started madly attaching the straps to his bindings. Just as he got to the gate, the starters said, "Number 15, in the gate." Gordon said...
...place even had castellated edging around the rim of a flat roof and an obviously home-made, handy-andy porch pretending to be a gate-house; every man's home his castle. Note to monograph; Reminiscent of old Mr. Wemmick in Great Expectations with his miniature castle, moat, and drawbridge. Home-made: There were efforts to make house homes like the initialled screen doors on plain white houses the mill had built not far away...
...padre then read the prayers in Quechua, his voice betraying his lack of familiarity with the language. After finishing he began to walk toward the gate of the cemetery. "Aren't we even going to wait until the body's buried?" I asked him almost gleefully. I had never seen a burial. No, he answered, it was time for dinner. By now there was a noticeable buzz in my head. We set back for the church, so that the padre could get rid of his vestment...
...just outside the gate of the cemetery, we were met by a couple of campesinos, one of whom carried a heavy earthen jug on his back. "Ah, padre, padre, un vaso, por favor." Father, father, one glass, please, they said excitedly as they pressed around the priest. I began to understand what was going on, and so I tried to move off to the side, where I hoped I would not be noticed. Padre Ray had little choice. The campesino with the urn, his face dirty from the day's sweat, eagerly swung the container off his back and took...