Word: twilights
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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...romantic twilight envelops the workers, and upon the heavy air is borne an odor like none other in the modern world. It seems transported directly from the stately charnal-vaults of Chartres. Dimly, along the shadow-filled edges of the room, great banks of books may be seen, arousing in one a sense of the immensity of knowledge and of its intangibility. In this atmosphere one feels the spirit of the venerable Bede, who completed his biblical translation--despite failing eyesight--by candlelight in his cell at Jarrow. Great indeed is the library that fosters this passionate self-forgetfulness...
...harp plinks of "Just a Song at Twilight," 40 loyal crusaders trooped into a festive Manhattan dining room, burst out: "Happy birthday, dear doctor, happy birthday to you." Beaming across his dinner table on his 80th birthday was silvery, bright-eyed Dr. Charles Giffen Pease, founder-president of the Non-Smokers' Protective League. Bristling enemy of coffee, tea, cocoa, chocolates, meats, drugs, medicines and vaccination. All through the vegetarian banquet which followed, the 40 guests talked of Dr. Pease's successful campaign in 1909 to have smoking banned in New York City subways. No one had forgotten his subsequent practice...
Were college authorities to "stand by" student agitators in the nebulous twilight zone between legal right and wrong, the encouragement to radical elements would inevitably have serious consequences and draw universities into a sphere wholly beyond their province...
Overhead the hollow stretch of whitish cloud formations shut out the sky and cloak the whole land in a tent that had the earth for its floor. Absent is the late pale green of heaven, the distant rims of the world are suffused into the gathering twilight. The land is barren and fruitless except for the smiling champaigns of flowers blotched intermittently throughout all the wastes. There is no wind, or breath of air, or life along this unemancipated expanse of soil. For the world and all its singing birds and budding trees and songs and mountains and summits...
...that was long ago and Tesla has lingered on into a twilight of semiobscurity. His hotel room is now his only laboratory, his brain his only tool. When callers importune him he takes a bath or goes to bed. When he talks about his work his deep-set blue eyes burn with an icy fire. He walks prodigious distances through the city streets. His most valued friends are the New York Public Library's somnolent pigeons. A life-long bachelor, Dr. Tesla is tall, spare, erect, parchment-skinned, beak-nosed. The mustache he once wore is gone...