Word: muttered
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...waiting. Full of forgiveness, the clergyman brings Kevin into his study and sits the boy on his lap. "You're home now, child," he says, kissing Kevin's cheek, his neck, his bare chest. His passion spilling into parental devotion, he whispers, "Mama loves you." Finally Kevin dares to mutter, "My mother's dead and always will be. You're not my mother." Poor little fellow, he must be punished-flogged until his body is one deep bruise-then consoled. Brother Lavin carries Kevin to bed, in a father's loving embrace, and the boy whimpers himself to sleep...
...rise to) to save their life. But much of the delivery gets lost in all the strutting and posing the actors do. Moreover, there are moments when everyone on the boat is holding separate conversations which seem unimportant since none of them is discernable with all the mutter of activity...
...Mutter Museum was closed on Halloween. But in many ways, it is Halloween at the Mutter every day. The first-time visitor is confronted by macabre marvels: monstrously misshapen skulls and skeletons, fetal remains of offspring that could never be human, shadowy effigies of things that went bump in the night. The Mutter's polished wood, gleaming brass rails and dark oil paintings suggest the library of a wealthy if eccentric 19th century aristocrat. But when professor Thomas Dent Mutter bequeathed his collection to the College of Physicians of Philadelphia in 1856, he intended it as a teaching...
...from Baltimore's Greenmount Cemetery, hoping to prove that the man killed by federal agents in 1865 was not the infamous actor. The descendants believe that the real Booth escaped and died in obscurity in 1903. They can start by examining the piece of evidence already aboveground at the Mutter...
Thanks to its grotesqueries, the Mutter is beginning to trade offbeat obscurity for popular renown. Five years ago, it drew just 4,300 visitors; this year's attendance will be nearly four times that. Says Worden, who has appeared on David Letterman's show three times: "We're getting better known because we're just so interesting." The museum's photo calendar, she adds, sells briskly. The first ones, issued in 1993, are now collector's items, at $40 apiece. Each picture, like each exhibit, is a memento mori, a ghoulish reminder of our own mortality, malevolently fascinating, weirdly beautiful...