Word: pyromaniacal
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...author endows his most gro tesque characters with a certain beau ty. His kinkiest people - an albino Negro pyromaniac, a senile, one-eyed dishwasher - are the imaginings of a major talent...
...again. De Hartog's four stages of religion go something like stages of religion go something like this: in the beginning, naturally, there are the seers and prophets. The Peaceable Kingdom opens with young George Fox galloping into Lancashire to spread the inner light, rather like a spiritual pyromaniac. Fox received the standard bloody treatment of prophets, and a bit more, at the hands of mobs and at the hands of the Establishment, too. Religious ecstasy, De Hartog makes clear, is the ultimate revolution, to which society reacts with equal and opposite frenzy...
...handling street hassles. If she hasn't been kidnapped at infancy from a baby carriage parked in front of the A and P, she will still have a good chance of being accosted by a drunken sailor, robbed, heckled, smoked out of a Madison Avenue bus by a pyromaniac lighting matches on the back seat, and altogether pinched so often and in so many strange places that if the IRT subway line could be held responsible and sued it would go bankrupt faster than the Pennsylvania Central. And finally, if she gets really lucky, like the five-year-old daughter...
Padlocked Exits. The Cinq-Sept was a pyromaniac's dream. On the balcony overlooking the dance floor, alcoves resembling grottoes were fashioned from papier-mache. Overhanging the room was an explosively inflammable polyurethane ceiling on which a psychedelic light show was played. Illegal one-way turnstiles, with floor-to-ceiling bars surrounded by caging, were the only entrances to the windowless club. Three of the four emergency exits were padlocked to keep out those without tickets who were eager to hear The Storm, a new rock group from Paris. "I admit that the turnstiles ultimately made the club...
...hasn't been kidnapped at infancy from a baby carriage parked in front of the A and P, she will still have a good chance of being accosted by a drunken sailor (probably a fag, besides), robbed, heckled, smoked out of a Midson Avenue bus by a pyromaniac lighting matches on the back seat, and altogether pinched so often and in so many strange places that if the IRT subway line could be held responsible and sued it would go bankrupt faster than the Pennsylvania Central. And finally, if she gets really lucky, like the five-year-old daughter...