Word: gravely
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Dates: during 1990-1999
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...ever a crime cried out for grave punishment, it's this one. King and two friends were driving a 1982 Ford pickup in the early-morning hours last June. They spotted Byrd, 49, an unemployed vacuum-cleaner salesman, walking home from a party on a lonely stretch of Highway 96 and offered him a ride. They drove him to a deserted corner of the backwoods and, after a struggle, chained him to the truck by his ankles. Then they dragged him for three miles along a rural road outside Jasper. Byrd was alive for the first two miles, a pathologist...
...firm represents real estate developer E. Ossie Smith, who was referred to in your story on the attempts by North Carolina farmer Phillip J. Barker to reclaim his family's farm [AMERICAN SCENE, Jan. 25]. You said Smith, who bought the farm at auction, had bulldozed the grave of a Barker family member. Smith had never been advised that there was a grave on the premises. In the process of clearing the land, workmen came upon a small gravesite hidden by brush and overgrowth. Upon finding the grave, Smith stopped work and began to clear and preserve the site...
...secretive. Considering some of the traumas she has endured, this is quite understandable. She is perhaps the most demure sensual beast ever to have graced the modern novel with her penchant for provocation. As the heroine of Sue Miller's newest novel, While I Was Gone, Jo faces a grave dilemma: how to reconcile her domesticated life as a 52-year-old mother, wife and veterinarian with her sensual fantasies and hippie past. She is fascinated by naked flesh, particularly that of her daughters, her husband and her bar-waitress friends. Unlike her loving husband Daniel, a minister who professes...
...lucky few whose creations have underlined a pregnant moment on Dawson's Creek. "Lost on Me" is that tune, one barely distinguishable from the rest of the now mainstream alternative ditties which grace their self-titled debut album. Kurt Cobain is perpetually rolling over in his grave for the embarrassingly bland rip-offs of the genre he spawned...
...spring into action; we retrace our steps, search our table downstairs and find nothing. She swears she had it in her hands, that it disappeared into thin air. The loss is grave, I soon find out-it was a cashmere sweater. Our spirits rise when she and I notice a friend of ours in the middle of dance floor and we work through the crowd to say hello. When we get up close, we find ourselves duped once again--it isn't our friend; just someone strikingly similar--his evil twin, we nervously joke. The third floor has us beat...