Word: window
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Dates: during 2000-2009
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...examine a specimen of your blood.'' I was astonished. Any ignoramus would know that I had bronchitis, possibly verging on pneumonia, not hepatitis, an inflammation of the liver with symptoms entirely different from mine. What sort of ''doctor'' was this? When I looked at him through the small window, I saw a country lad, no more than 20 years of age, in a soldier's uniform. I realized he was not a trained doctor at all but had been given the job because Mao had said, ''We must learn swimming from swimming.'' Several days passed; my fever got so high...
...myself, ''Two and two makes four, four and four equals eight, eight and eight equals 16 . . . '' But after only a little while, my ability to concentrate would evaporate, and I would get confused again. After several more days, I no longer had the strength to stagger to the small window for rice or water. I drifted in and out of consciousness for some time, then passed out altogether. When I opened my eyes again, I was lying on the dusty floor. ''Get up! Get up!'' a man's voice was shouting. ''You are feigning death! You won't be allowed...
...sure she was not a qualified doctor. But apparently the guards and others at the detention house believed her. My treatment improved. More months passed. Suddenly, on March 27, 1973, after the midday meal, while I was walking about in the cell, a guard opened the small window and said, ''Pack up all your things.'' ''All my things?'' I asked her. ''Yes, all your things. Don't leave anything behind.'' In the interrogation rooms, the interrogator said, ''I will read the conclusion arrived at by the People's Government on your case.'' He read a document that said I ''deserved...
...lampshades. In the largest guest room, where the Red Guards had carried out most of their cutting and smashing, a radio set was broadcasting revolutionary songs based on Mao's quotations. A female voice was singing, ''Marxism can be summed up in one sentence: revolution is justifiable.'' Through a window I saw bright, leaping flames in the garden. A bonfire had been lit in the middle of the lawn. The Red Guards were standing around the fire tossing my books onto the flames. My heart tightened with pain. Several Red Guards began hammering on the furniture and breaking my records...
...entity, a violent flowering of the heart, a burst of flame. A moment before, they had been hurling stones at a Volkswagen van that went veering and skittering off down the main street of Khan Yunis. So we were next in line for the politics of stones. The back window was half-open, and the boy with eyes like cracked ice thrust in his fluttering and clutching hand, like a child reaching into a cave, aggressively curious but half-afraid the hand might be bitten by something in the dark. Roll it up: the hand withdrew before being caught...