Word: visitores
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...person who happened to drop in for tea on that Sunday afternoon, he would appear just another man sitting at home entertaining his friends. If the visitor had stopped by a few hours earlier he might have seen him mowing the lawn, or watering his tomato plants, while his wife-his campus sweetheart-tended the flowers. Chances are that if the same person stops at the same place a few years hence he will find the same scene, for Arthur Schlesinger, with his teaching career ended, still has some books to write and some very important things to say. HERBERT...
...fantastic adventures grows increasingly limp and raveled. By then Cèline has, as always, succeeded in hammering his sharpest hallucinations deep into the reader's head. Spit-curled Cascade, lantern-bearing Dr.Clodowitz, sovereign-stuffed Titus van Claben-such characters are engraved in the memory for keeps. No visitor since Thomas Wolfe has described London with such off-beat perception and passion-not the London the tourist or the Briton has ever seen, but the insane metropolis "painted like fog with some yellow and raspberry added" that Cèline alone is capable of seeing...
...Final Secret. She is much reminded of her husband by a ruddy-faced, curly-haired visitor. As he kneels at her side, she instinctively knows that he once made love to her on the chaise longue. A more terrible parallel occurs when she starts spitting blood into her handkerchief and realizes that as Milly, she will...
...through the end of 1954), Queen Mary would have had little to quibble about. Most of it was arranged just as she had displayed it herself. The result was an entrancing glimpse into the royal attic of the last Great Victorian of the British royal family. As one visitor wrote in the weekly Time and Tide: "I felt as though I had strayed into the Paradise of All Good Children, to enjoy on a perpetual Sunday afternoon the exquisite and unlimited treasures of some celestial Grandmother...
Projects of a Mistress. Today's visitor to Versailles can "still see what she saw from her little balcony . . . the fountains of mermaids and cupids, the avenue of trees . . . We still hear the great clock on the parish church, the organ in the palace chapel . . . But we do not hear the King's hunt in the forest, the hounds and the horns . . . The rooms, so empty today, so cold with their northern light, were crammed to bursting point when she lived in them; crammed with people, animals and birds . . . furniture, stuffs, patterns . . . plans, sketches, maps, books . . . embroidery . . . letters...