Word: killingly
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...sick with disgust at the behavior of the so-called authorities, who far too often react to every moral question raised by the young with incredible stupidity and obscene cruelty. This grandmother is full of contempt for the lazy, sloppy sheep of her generation who prefer to maim or kill a child rather than question their own joyless values...
...sense, he explained, because it would have given the Communists control of the high ground. "It's a myth that if we don't do anything, nothing will happen to us. It's not true. If we did pull back and were quiet, they'd kill us in the night." Zais said that he had received no orders to keep casualties* down. Could he not have ordered B-52 strikes against the hill, rather than committing his paratroopers? The general said "absolutely not"-air power could not possibly have done...
...support it in a somewhat untraditional manner. One chaplain, for instance, likes to take a turn firing M-60 machine guns from Huey helicopters. Another wears a shoulder holster and a .45 even when in Saigon. A third, with more honesty than relish, admits that "I could kill a man in a second. After you see how vicious the V.C. can be, it's hard to separate yourself from it." Some genuinely heroic acts, on the other hand, are forced simply by the nature of the war. The Rev. Jerry Autry, 28, a Baptist chaplain from Princeton, S.C., once...
Nature got her licks in too. There were fires and floods and freezes this year, not to mention all the talk about the Earthquake. The Earthquake has missed fifteen scheduled appearances so far, but God has decided to kill the Golden State in a slower and more appalling way. Helicopters and buckshot in the north, and a re-run of Sam Yorty in the south...
...soft or dreamy about Nabokov. He seems to have been an astonishingly disciplined, highly competitive, hopeless overperformer. His cousin Nicolas, a composer living in Hamburg, remembers Vladimir at 18 as tall, handsome and insufferably skillful at nearly everything?though he always smelled slightly of the ether he used to kill the specimen butterflies he caught. When Vladimir was enrolled in a liberal school expressly chosen by his father, he resented a master's suggestion that the Nabokov coachman deposit him several blocks away so he could arrive at class democratically afoot. A more galling comment, though, came from teachers...