Word: rabbiting
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...easy to know that white marlin, those denizens of the deep, don't eat rabbits. But do the marlin know it? Hosting, the Second Annual Governors Invitational Marlin Tournament at Ocean City, Maryland's pixyish Governor J. Millard Tawes, 72, arrived with a "secret weapon"-a lure made from a rabbit's foot with a hook in it. Presto! Barely five minutes after Tawes got out to the fishing grounds, a 7-ft. 4-in. marlin hurled itself at his line. "My goodness!" exclaimed Tawes, and pumped in the prize. No one else got even a sniff...
...little girl and her name was Beatrix. She lived with her Papa and her Mama and her brother Bertram in a grand house at No. 2 Bolton Gardens, Kensington, London, England. Beatrix was not permitted to have any friends, but she did have a dog, a doll, a pet rabbit, a governess, and her own dear little nursery room with strong shiny bars over the windows...
...also had a small but genuine genius, which she poured into some of the best known children's books ever published. In The Tale of Peter Rabbit, one of the simplest, shortest and fastest-moving tales ever written, her pastel-tinted miscreant wiggled under a forbidden fence for a lawless day in Mr. McGregor's garden and wriggled forever into the lives of millions. That story was followed by a score of other children's books, tales of Squirrel Nut-kin, Jemima Puddle-Duck, Mrs. Tittle-mouse, Mr. Jeremy Fisher, and-generally recognized by Potter connoisseurs...
...only afford to wash her face once a fortnight." Prime Minister William Gladstone was "a vain old bird ... I never saw a person so creased . . . that old goose." The Journal breaks off, with Beatrix earnestly pursuing the classification and painting of fungi, three years before the publication of Peter Rabbit. Looking back in later years, she remembered him unsentimentally: "At one time I almost loathed Peter Rabbit, I was so sick of him." She is probably the only one who ever...
...McCullers. Begun when the author was 13 and rewritten intermittently for more than a decade, Moss transpires in the mind and immediate vicinity of a white-trash waif. The girl's mother, a cold-eyed prostitute, abandons her, and her father, a warm-hearted Cherokee Indian, dies of rabbit fever. Desperate, she seeks in nature the tenderness she needs, and imagines the lost meaning of her life in bizarre epiphanies: a glimpse of flowers growing in a dead mule, an encounter with an albino Negro boy who "ain't got biddie brains in his head...