Word: ranging
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...cafeterias that bordered the campus or standing in one of the book-stores, they saw him go by, carrying the bag tightly under his right arm.... They knew he was a widower, and that he did his own cooking and his own housework. Occasionally one of the students rang his doorbell late in the afternoon and asked if Professor Greg was free to help him with a research problem on which he was working. Invariably he was invited in and given tea and macaroons, and from some invisible card file in his head Professor Greg listed all of the authorities...
...trolley cars were running in Beirut again, though it was a bumpy ride through streets torn and pitted by five months of civil war. Joyous bonfires were lit, the shops rolled up their shutters, the barricades began to come down. Shots rang out, but only in celebration; peace had come at last to Lebanon...
...long, the aromatic smell of in cense filled the churches of Rome. Blackedged posters proclaiming the death of Pope Pius XII covered the walls of the city, and everywhere, among the poor and the prosperous, men were wearing black armbands and women black veils. But even as the hammers rang...
...figure in grey slacks and blue windbreaker. Under fluffy, center-parted white hair, his big, broad-browed head was thrust forward, turtle fashion. He looked old as he walked toward the cleat-chewed turf, but he shed his years like a mantle and straightened up smartly as the call rang out: "All right, kickers and punters," and the 39 players ended their scrimmage. Nine young men fell out and trotted over to the venerable newcomer. "Hi, coach," they chorused. Then one asked: "How about some kicking today...
...looked at the Vagabond's ashen face. There were tears in his eyes. He cleared his throat, blew his nose, and went on. "After that they came thick and fast. Sometimes the phone rang before I had relinquished my grip on the newly-cradled receiver. Marrowitz, Marrowitz, Marrowitz, roared in a tumultuous crescendo inside my skull. Finally I fled into the unknown morning, vaguely seeking surceace in Sever Hall with Uzbek Studies 229. It was ghastly--so ghastly I cannot talk about it. The obscene rites that there transpired, as registered on my fear-crazed brain by my blear-hazed...