Word: lamps
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...School as an enlargement of the Lowell Institute. Because Lowell House was already using the Lowell family arms, the Extension School designed another shield featuring two bushels of wheat, which was the fee for courses given originally by the Lowell Institute. Also, to signify learning by night, a burning lamp is shown at the base of the shield...
...three men are left on guard, the rest crammed into a tiny room lined with iron beds. Squatting around a smoky hurricane lamp we eat a meal of stale bread dunked in thin soup and drink strong black tea. After finishing, two of the boys turn to karambol, a game like pool in which flat counters are flicked across a board. Farid, another section commander, sits intently loading an ammunition belt with machine-gun rounds. Allah Mahmad lounges on one of the beds and talks wistfully of wanting the kind of education for his four sons that he never...
...Beast” float from a laptop, which rests on a desk wrapped entirely in pink crepe paper. Colored Christmas tree lights adorned with sparkly pieces of candy line the molding and the drawers. Colorful flower pots sit in the corner, next to a purple parasol. The floor lamp is ornamented with silver chiffon butterfly wings. Printed patterns of pink and red lipsticks and compacts dot the bedsheets. Even the CD holders and the crutches leaning on the wall are painted pink...
...hiked up the acropolis, toured the ancient Agora and struck a snapshot pose at the grounds where Pericles once preached the wonders of democracy. You've bought a lamp of Aphrodite with a clock mounted in her belly, and you've paid $8.99 for a slice of mousaka that tastes like the rubber Parthenon you picked up for the folks back home. What next? Get out, out of the tourist rat-runs and into Psirri and Votanikos. There lie the liveliest new quarters of old Athens. Once home to the country's best craftsmen, Psirri, a honeycomb of one-room...
...plays at weddings. Those who cannot escape devise other ways to rebel. Shopkeepers sell cassettes on the black market, musicians bury their instruments for retrieval later, and drivers blare their stereos in remote areas. In a tiny flat in Kabul, with the shutters drawn, Naveeda crouches before a kerosene lamp and whispers the lyrics of a popular love song to her family--softly, so that no one will report her. "We're like dead people," says her brother Nadir. "When the evening comes, there's no electricity, no radio, no TV, no cinema...