Word: grotto
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...hundred rows of other children, followed by a vast crowd of men and women. Many had walked that morning through mountain wind and pelting rain as a special act of devotion to the Virgin Mary on the 100th anniversary of her apparition to little Bernadette Soubirous in the grotto at Lourdes. By 10 o'clock, some 50,000 people were massed within the encircling wings of the basilica, or jammed shoulder to shoulder on the surrounding hillsides...
Berman's graveyard was bathed in a running, watery green light, and the Commendatore (no longer cumbrously on horseback) glowed dimly through the iron grille of a crypt, like a sea creature in a grotto. Through the mellow moonlit streets moved the kind of cast only a great opera house could muster: Cesare Siepi, Eleanor Steber, Lisa Della Casa, Roberta Peters, Cesare Valletti, Giorgio Tozzi, Fernando Corena, Theodor Uppman, all in top form...
...discovery was made by a young Italian engineer named Erno Bellante, who was building a road past the town of Sperlonga (pop. 3,000) by the Tyrrhenian Sea. Taking time off from his prosaic work, Amateur Archaeologist Bellante set workmen to digging inside the grotto of Tiberius (who reigned from 14 A.D. to 37 A.D.), 90-ft.-deep cavern hard by the site of Tiberius' famed Villa Spelunca (Cave Villa).* Beneath six inches of limy earth, one of Bellante's men struck a marble fragment shaped like the calf of a human leg, about twice lifesize. The diggers...
...Borse, weighing 90 Ibs.. was carried aboard the plane. At the grotto where, in 1858, Bernadette Soubirous reported her visions of the Virgin, two male nurses supported him on each side. "Then came the physical shock of the cold water. There was nothing dramatic. I just suddenly felt completely fit. I wanted to jump out of the pool myself, but the attendants held me. I dressed myself and the attendants came after me with the chair, but I insisted on walking. There were moments when my legs felt like jelly; I felt I'd never make...
Bittersweet Memories. If Mick Micheyl is a Parisian spring breeze, Juliette Greco is a gust from a dark grotto. In Manhattan last week, with her weedy dark hair hanging to her waist, she chanted in French the bittersweet songs that have made her famous at home. Her large, square hands shaped the phrases; her high-cheekbonsd, chalky face was alternately sullen and sad. In her best song, I Hate Sundays ("Every day of the week is empty and hollow, but there's worse than the weekday, there's pretentious Sunday"), her voice faded to an organ whisper. Even...