Word: shudder
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...well be that Fosse's dark sensibility will prove even better suited to the '90s than it was to the '70s. How else to explain why theatergoers are cheering a plotless show without a single love song, an evening-long shudder of disillusion in which the women are hookers, the men pimps and the audience voyeurs, gazing raptly at one primal scene after another? You'll hoot at the zany antics of Steam Heat and weep over the sweet sentimentality of Mr. Bojangles, but the picture that will stay in your mind longest is the sinister image of a pencil...
Once back on the job, Hillary found that her every shudder invited scrutiny. There was the way she ignored the President's touch at a speech in Moscow, and the way she charged half a block ahead of him while working a crowd in Ireland. She spent their 23rd anniversary at a women's conference in Bulgaria; he spent it in budget talks at the White House. But the First Couple danced together three times at a state dinner for Vaclav Havel. "Hillary and I, we're doing fine," her husband said...
...believe, in fact, that most women would prefer a man to be glumly uncommunicative than to spill his guts at the drop of a hat. That (one recalls with a shudder) was the goal of the so-called men's movement of Robert Bly et al. in the 1980s and early '90s, which exhorted men to express their feelings. If anyone doubts the perils of men expressing feelings, he should watch The McLaughlin Group or Cable Monica...
...almost certainly didn't notice, and you may shudder at the preposterous prematurity of it all, but most of the would-be presidents in the Democratic Party trekked to a hotel ballroom last week to take part in the first, unofficial scrimmage of the 2000 campaign. The occasion was the annual conference of the Democratic Leadership Council, the organization of self-described "New Democrat" centrists that Bill Clinton used both as a springboard to the nomination in 1992 and as an idea factory for such once un-Democratic proposals as reforming welfare and balancing the federal budget. Back then...
...fell in love last year. It was a strange kind of love. With a woman, yes. She lived in Dunster House. I saw her often. Too often. The sight of her made me shudder. Her touch made me cringe. She had a shrill voice--her vowels sounded like the moan of a dolphin, her consonants vaguely like a knife scratching against a china plate...