Word: scrawling
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...most important, and certainly the best known, of all the collections at Houghton is the William B. Wisdom collection of virtually all the literary remains of Thomas Wolfe. This collection occupies rows and rows of the black boxes, all fielled with manuscripts pencilled in Wolfe's illegible scrawl, or typed drafts with autograph corrections. In the boxes are the complete manuscripts of three of Wolfe's four published novels (Look Homeward, Angel is in ledger form), all the short stories, most of the letters, and the tremendous amount of unpublished miscellaneous material which he had written along...
...hairlooms was a lustrous, 2½ ft. pony tail, still scented with the aroma of pomade, which had been snipped from a Spanish sefiorita. But by far the most intriguing was one packet holding a single fair ringlet, with the bemused memo in Byron's faded scrawl: "Whose this was I don't recollect...
Student Council referendums are dull affairs at best, involving a hasty scrawl on a mimeographed ballot before one settles down to supper; and today's promises to be no more exciting. But with as important a measure as the Re-evaluation Report coming before the College, the Council would have done well to dispel the cloud of apathy surrounding its proposed revamping. For it will take two-thirds of the ballots cast to get an improved Student Council...
That was until he ran into his allies. You see, there were other people who didn't like Henry James. Those People who hang around Schoenhof's in the daytime and well-lit Wigg windows at night (in this sublimating summer age), who scrawl bits of free verse on toilet paper tissue and pursue the Muse enthusiastically. Like the grimy fellow who whispered over his Haffenreffer malt liquor: "How could James know about life? You heard about the bicycle accident he had when he was young? Well...
That was until he ran into his allies. You see, there were other people who didn't like Henry James. Those People who hang around Schoenhof's in the day-time and well-lit Wigg windows at night (in this sublimating summer age), who scrawl bits of free verse on toilet paper tissue and pursue the Muse enthusiastically. Like the grimy fellow who whispered over his Haffenreffer malt liquor: "How could James know about life? You heard about the bicycle accident he had when he was young? Well...