Word: miasmal
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...miasmal depression was finally sundered a day later, however, by the last minute eruption of our team to tie Yale's Macedonian offense, at which point the Harvard Band found the key and played its Zarathustra cheer with overpowering apostrophic radiance...
...above, it looked like a dirty blanket enfolding the whole northeast. Pilots dipping from crystalline skies prepared abruptly to make instrument landings. In midmorning, motorists inched through the Stygian haze with smarting eyes and headlights ablaze. Skyscrapers were amputated at the midriff. Pedestrians in city streets gasped at the miasmal murk even as newspaper headlines screamed that their next breath might be a dose of poison...
...novel, a core sampling from that vein of irrational hostility that separates servants from masters, haves from havenots, Britain's John Fowles explored the miasmal psychology of an impotent, whey-faced nonentity named Clegg. A municipal clerk whose warped dreams brutally but clearly mock the aspirations of the newly affluent New People of the English working class, Clegg collects butterflies in his off-hours until he wins $200,000 in the football pool and can suddenly indulge his wildest fancies. He buys a remote country house, converts its vaulted cellar into a more or less gilded cage, and kidnaps...
...seasonal rains descended on the miasmal coast of southern New Guinea, and with them came the end of the air search for Anthropologist Michael Clark Rockefeller, 23, last seen a fortnight earlier swimming away from his capsized boat in the shark-ridden Arafura Sea (TIME, Dec. 1). Though missionaries and Papuan natives doggedly beat on through the increasingly impassable bush, the Australian rescue helicopters departed-as did Michael's father, New York's Governor Nelson Rockefeller, who, upon his arrival at Idlewild Airport, first began to use the past tense in describing his adventurous youngest son: "He knew...
...newspaper pages about an obscure crime, he has proliferated a great flowering of sin and scenery, myth and mysticism. He resembles Simenon in his ability to evoke swiftly a street, a room, a city. In the final chapters, there is an unfortunate settling down of Gothic and miasmal mist, but even here, Gabrielle Bompard is wildly and insistently alive, whether jabbing a coachman with her imperious parasol or grumbling crossly at a tired lover: "Is it my fault if men overestimate their capacities?" Many readers, like Jacquemar himself, may be horror-stricken to find that they "cannot help loving this...