Word: woodenly
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...their way. The Quad's only definite attraction to outsiders is Hilles Library, which is much more luxurious than the Yard's Lamont and is a great place to study when the Yard gets too noisy. Hilles's comfortable chairs and bright airy atmosphere contrast to Lamont's stiff wooden claustrophobia...
...welcome if not a beloved figure, the President last week was relishing what he calls a "working vacation." He was doing what comes naturally: chatting with an earnest 4-H'er about the calories in a pineapple milkshake, patting the beefy flank of a prizewinning steer, comparing a wooden porch swing to the one owned by "a girl I used to court." But the brief Western trip had its serious side. The President's approval rating had dropped to 45% in the Gallup poll and to 38% in the Harris, so he was intent on explaining his policies...
...find it easier to control troubled or obstreperous children when they are heavily sedated. Sometimes the results can be tragic. A North Carolina doctor and his wife blame the death of their retarded daughter last June on an overdose of Thorazine administered in a state institution. Education Researcher Kenneth Wooden, who recently visited juvenile facilities in 30 states as part of a Ford Foundation research project, charges that "thousands of children have been placed in human warehouses where hard drugs are administered like candy...
...getting all hot and drippy from the water bubbling in from the source (up 100 yards from the white bearded--that's insulation from the winter--tub big enough to fit 20 naked people) where two guys limped it into each other's laps on top of the wooden housing covering the spring, and when any sun-blistered American might have been expected, no even required, obligated, bound and beholden to roar "Fucking Faggots," Peg only muttered "Damn flat-land turkeys," and all of us except for Briggs, a slow-as-molasses bear of a flatlander passing himself...
...suited him. Briggs and I hadn't come to Pegleg Mac's to cruise his rutted road, the night's sweat dripping off the Delac as she heaved in the ruts, looking for a girl out wandering in stars she said were "fucking intense," feeling all cold and wooden inside. Coming out to Pegleg Mac's, we hadn't counted on poking through these depths, strung to the short end of the Delac's lingering lights, all caught up in this black region that was so soft and cold, suspending them like feathers dusting the tarnished edges of the burning...