Word: laying
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...were silent last week. There were no clerics left to call the faithful to prayer. Some of the minarets that rise above the city were bullet-ridden and broken, targeted by American guns aiming to kill any Iraqi insurgents who might be taking cover inside. Buildings throughout the city lay in smoldering ruins in the wake of days of U.S. tank assaults and air strikes. It is not surprising that a ferocious battle erupted in Fallujah--the heart of the so-called Sunni triangle, where those loyal to Saddam Hussein and his thuggish regime have made their most violent stands...
...become a ritual. Each Friday hundreds of young, impoverished Shi'ite men would pile into beat-up Kia minibuses in a Baghdad slum known as Sadr City. They would travel the 90-mile highway to the holy city of Kufa to lay their prayer mats inside the mosque, jockeying for a spot as close to the podium as possible. Whenever the white car carrying their leader, Muqtada al-Sadr, came into view, the scene would turn into pandemonium. Bodyguards with Kalashnikov ma-chine guns would struggle to carve out a path so al-Sadr could reach a platform beneath...
...American public needs confidence that this planning is progressing well. The Senate Foreign Relations Committee will hold a hearing next week, when I will ask the State Department to lay out the arrangements that have been made. The Congress, and in fact the world, needs to see how the June 30 transition date can work...
...place that corporal Mike Baccellieri and 20 other U.S. Marines were calling home in Fallujah bears witness to the brutality of the fight they are waging. Empty brass casings, cigarette cartons and ammunition boxes lay strewn about the floor of the commandeered house. The Marines were essentially pinned down inside the building for several days last week while insurgents peppered it with small-arms fire and rocket-propelled grenades (RPGs). Whenever U.S. attack helicopters swooped in to fire rockets into the city, they were greeted with gunfire. Marines on the ground spotted the muzzle flashes and called in bombs directed...
When Edward Jones was 10, he used to go to the public library in Washington, but not for the books. "We would go into the boys' room," he remembers. "We would take off our shoes and lay on the floor and put our feet up on the radiators to get warm." Jones is again sitting in the lobby of that building, but the library is now the City Museum of Washington, and Jones is 53 and the winner of the Pulitzer Prize for his first novel, The Known World (Amistad; 388 pages). Time does have a way of changing everything...