Word: trunkful
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...struggle around the tree. In the space which now composes the Bollis-Harvard-Idonel-Bolden Chapel quadrangle grew the tree, and around it sat in a low grand stand the ladies, who cheered as vociferously then as now. Ten feet up the tree a wreath of flowers encircled the trunk, and to get a small bouquet of these flowers was the dearest ambition of every Senior. Caps and gowns were cast aside, and the oldest possible clothes were worn. It was every man for himself, and the struggles were tremendous. Sometimes men grouped together, and on the shoulders of four...
...policeman. The room was in some disorder. Photographs were littered across the bed; a few had slid down to the floor. A picture of a girl was propped up on a chair near the window and in the corner three theatrical costumes were heaped on top of a trunk. A man was kneeling by the bed, .his hands stiffly and desperately twisted together, his head pushed down against his arms. He did not say anything when the three people came into the room. The policeman touched him, shook him a little, then saw the smear of blood that ran down...
...Hippodrome, biggest Manhattan theatre. The little, inexpressive brown face with the smear of blood would have reminded him of another face, with the same features, set in a foolish pointed smile. He would have recognized the dusty, madly tailored evening clothes that Marceline had taken out of his trunk before he killed himself, as the uniform of the most famous clown since the days of Grimaldi...
...preferred ash trees to live under and Joseph knew it. Joseph would never have cut down an ash if St. John Deakan had not come to dinner one night and brought his daughter. She made Joseph pick up his ax and begin to chop through the thick dark trunk of an ash tree she wanted for lumber...
First, there were 30 pages of the manuscript of the Life. These had not been closed in the ebony trunk, but had, since the death of Boswell, reposed in a Scottish garret where the air was as damp as oatmeal. When Lord Talbot stooped to gather this sheaf of merry memories, the bundle had crumbled in his hand into a little flutter of yellowish flakes. Only 30 pages could be gathered again. These, a gay jumble of antique anecdotes, had been joined and backed with gauze so that they might last perhaps forever. The manuscript of An Account of Corsica...