Word: sofas
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...Borden came back from his errands worn out by the heat. He went into the sitting room, stretched out on the sofa. Soon Bridget, dozing in her room, was roused by a cry from Miss Lizzie: ''Come down here! Father's dead; someone came in and killed him!" Mr. Borden was still lying on the sofa, his face and head a mask of blood. He had been hacked to death with some sharp, heavy instrument. His body was still warm, the blood was still flowing. Neighbors came running, the house was searched; in the spare room they...
...green light crept across the table and hit Alice right in the eyes. To make matters worse, the polished wood of the chair had turned to cast iron beneath her, and so she made her way over to the sofa, stretching herself out flat upon her stomach. This was much more comfortable. The blinding green light was quite far away now, which made it much more difficult to read. But she had been getting sleepy for ever so long now, with one page looking just like the next, so she didn't see that it at all mattered...
...said the Red Queen. "I have been 'Action Francaise'. So that is what it is." She look-reading in the newspapers lately a lot about the ed at Alice a few moments and then walked over to the sofa and took the notebook out of the hands of the weary girl. Alice saw the green light fade ever further and listened vaguely to the muttering of the Red Queen as she fell asleep...
...choices of the prize jury. In 1934 they objected to Peter Blume's surrealist South of Scranton as the work of a decadent school of non- sense. In 1935 Spanish Hipólito Hidalgo de Caviedes' prizewinning picture of a young Negro couple on a sofa was held inferior to dozens of U. S. paintings of the same type. Of Leon Kroll's Road From the Cove Critic Henry McBride wrote in the New York...
...Stars Remain (By Julius & Philip Epstein; Theatre Guild, producer). In Scene II of this bright confection, Clifton Webb, cast as a Sutton Place flaneur, sinks back into a sofa and murmurs to a young woman who wants to take him to a party at Southampton: "I am 32, my dear. My dancing days are over." If imperturbable, emaciated, 45-year-old Mr. Webb's dancing days are indeed over, it will be a bitter blow to those who recall with pleasure his slick gyrations in Sunny, Three's A Crowd, Flying Colors, As Thousands Cheer. In the case...