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Word: rangely (lookup in dictionary) (lookup stats)
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...beatings have provided only a temporary respite. Last week fresh waves of violence swept over the West Bank and Gaza. For two days the Casbah of Nablus rang with a harsh tattoo as young stick-wielding Palestinian militants pounded on closed shop shutters and metallic junk barricades. Defying a curfew, the youths, armed with slingshots and iron bars, declared the old, walled portion of the West Bank city to be a Palestinian enclave. Forbidden red-black-white-an d-green Palestinian flags waved from the mosques, the gangs controlled the streets, and the army refused to enter...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: World - empty story | 2/15/1988 | See Source »

...mean Postman, coach? Last night, Harvard rang a second time...

Author: By Mark Brazaitis, | Title: Mr. Ungracious Returns to Bright | 2/13/1988 | See Source »

...Trang and Dalat provides a calming change of pace. Route 1, the two-lane highway linking Saigon with Hanoi, dips toward and away from the South China Sea on its way 250 miles up the coast. The van passes through places remembered dimly as wartime datelines. Phan Thiet, Phan Rang and Cam Ranh Bay, now a Soviet naval base, appear then recede outside the van's windows. Frequent ambushes and well-placed mines rendered many sections of Route 1 impassable to U.S. forces and the French military before them. Now a Manhattan-like roadscape of potholes and flooded-out bridges...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Living: Welcome Back to Viet Nam | 1/18/1988 | See Source »

...double-bypass operation. Haig still pins the story on his old nemesis Richard Allen, Reagan's first National Security Adviser, who, Haig claims, kept a report on the psychological effects of bypass surgery in his White House office. Haig, laughing mirthlessly, says Allen even showed it to Nixon, who rang Haig for an explanation...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Why Is This Man Running? | 1/18/1988 | See Source »

...vital forces had been decaying in this manner for several weeks when a phone rang in my dark, airless, and bitterly cold cubicle one day in the first week of January. Overwhelmed as it was by the whistle of the arctic gale forcing its way through fist-size holes in the plastic wrap covering my window, the sound of the ringer at first hardly reached me through the pile of soiled rags into which I had burrowed for warmth...

Author: By Jeffrey J. Wise, | Title: Good Morning San Francisco | 1/15/1988 | See Source »

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