Word: warmed
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...wouldn't know it to talk to him, though. Delight is warm and personable and has the relaxed confidence of youth. He loves school, especially science classes, and understands the importance of education. He is in many ways like his grandfather, with whom he is close. "I like studying, you know," he told me. "There's constant discipline. If you feel lazy or not, you have to study...
...president of the Revolution, Sarah M. Kinsella ’07, moved earnestly around the Tonkens Room in Winthrop House. Her classic pearl earrings matched the string of pearls around her neck, off-setting a casual outfit of jeans and a burgundy corduroy blazer. She smiled warmly, apologizing for having an ice cream social on such a cold day. “We planned this so long ago, it seemed like a good idea,” Kinsella said. Attendees extended warm welcomes to strangers, and kept the conversation light, asking the usual trifecta: Concentration? House? Year? After...
...Boston accent—would serve to alienate the University from the community in which it has resided in since 1636. Why else would Police Captain and son of South Boston William B. Evans be able to develop a convivial rapport with Boston College officials, who extend him a warm invitation yearly to lecture students on the hazards of alcohol, while endlessly butting heads with the Harvard administration over Allston...
...familiarity and support, much like a group of old friends coming together to talk about their new lives. Nonetheless, the feeling in the theater was not one of age, but of youth.At age 52, Jones herself was a display of youthful energy. She entered the stage to a very warm welcome, wearing a long, flowing white tunic and sparkling, tie-up sandals. Her long, blond, slightly disheveled hair gave the impression that she should be singing on a bright summer day and not shut in on a winter night. At first, her music gave a similar impression.Jones began her concert...
...homeland. These days his friends play for clubs in places like Azerbaijan, Armenia and Vietnam. "How was it today?" I ask as Gaucho steps out of the dressing room in a white turtleneck and a brown winter coat. He rolls his deep brown eyes. Then, his handsomely chiseled features warm up in disarming laughter. "I try. I give all myself. But I can't," he says, alluding to the ordeal of European winter. "I must do it. I am a professional. But I hate it." He has worn three layers of clothing at times in order to keep warm...