Word: plasters
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...wheyfaced priests at St. Jude's, "moving knowingly from the book to the cruets," seem to be "a million light years" away from Father Danny. Even Bert's wife fails him; her romantic notion of her husband is that he is "her serene man of faith, her plaster saint"; all she really wants of him is "the serenity without the plaster, but he'd forgotten how to separate them...
...even greater danger from Communism." In wartime, Major Lord Home was invalided out of the Lanarkshire Yeo manry after only a few months' service, when he contracted spinal tuberculosis. The next two years were to be the crucial period of his life. In bed, encased in a plaster cast, the happy-go-lucky Etonian read deeply and widely, pored over Marx and Lenin in an attempt to understand Russia's long-range goals. (Harold Wilson admits that he never got farther than page 2 of Marx's Das Kapital.) When he was able to return...
...When he refuses to admit that old Enderby may have been done in, Miss Marple swings her cloak 'round her shoulder like a Caesar crossed and announces imperiously, "I shall have to investigate this myself!") and does not retrieve it until the last bit of evidence--symbolized by the plaster of paris mold she carries in her pocket--has fallen into place...
Sometimes among the bills and accounts he finds a literary prize. Not long ago while his assistant, Mlle. Nicole Parichon, was cleaning the plaster off a mummy, she spotted a piece of papyrus that looked unusual. Other pieces matched it, and eventually a dozen pieces fitted together. They turned out to be part of a long, rolled-up scroll that contained 400 lines of a hitherto unknown play of Menander, a Greek playwright who died in 290 B.C. It is one of the oldest Greek manuscripts known, but the writing is almost as clear as fresh print...
...nothing but a play of light," said Rosso, and to let it play, he used a material most sculptors would shudder at-wax. Rosso built up his figures in clay first, cast them in bronze, or in plaster which he then coated with warm translucent wax thick enough to let him lightly edit the original version. Increasingly he left his sculptures as mere impressions, with fewer and fewer fine details, submerging behind veils of light. In one of his last busts, Madame X, barely more than a lopsided oval of wax, Rosso nearly dismisses the tactile world entirely. The mystery...