Word: yarding
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...Seriously, Jean, I just couldn't get you off my mind. I kept thinking about that afternoon last week, when we just walked around Cambridge, looking into store windows and fooling around in the Yard, and generally having a good time. That was fun, wasn't it?" (That, for the most part, was garbage; he had been dreaming all week about her body and how nice it would be to get into...
...more than the peck he had anticipated-and then he, breathless, had said. "See you next Friday, okay?" and she had said, "Yes," and he said, "I'll call you next week, we'll probably see a movie," and then he had run all the way back to the Yard; she had forgotten this?! No, she was too nice. Such fine girl! So good-looking and what a body! Martin thought again of that kiss, how she had pressed her body against his-he had met her only that afternoon! But then... she had met that junior only yesterday afternoon...
...still, when I came to Harvard, the closest thing with tenure to an active radical. But Professor Hughes and, for that matter. Betsy were only back-waters in the great stream of people supposedly politicized or radicalized by about five minutes of not unusually brutal police action in Harvard Yard. In both directions storm-troopers had worked the trick, the difference of opinion being as to who they were, students or police...
...Cliffie who had been lost in her own eyes found a sharer in a whole new vision. "The day I got back," she remembered. "I walked down to the Yard and sat on the steps of Widener. It was the first warm day in such a long time. There was a boy sitting near me dressed in corduroys. He had a wise old face and the kind of arm you knew-well, you knew could cradle the head of a beloved as well as fill out income tax forms. We started talking...
...then, asleep in Winthrop House. At two a.m., I had left those best and most creative people, walked guiltily down the stairs between their files of eyes, walked across that dark yard past the reasonable student-government people who had stayed up to argue and to observe, walked more guiltily yet past the friendly University policeman on Quincy Street, walked home in the cold, past the Houses where slept the Great Uncommitted with whom I felt I had less in common than with those romantics, or even those radicals...