Word: cats
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...next 87 minutes, without waiting for the doctor to confirm or deny the prediction, the poor little canary flutters in terror through the streets of Paris, pursued by the big black cat of Death. She flutters past a market, where carcasses of cattle hang from brutal hooks and the butchers inspect her expertly, as though she were a carcass too. She flutters to her manager (Dominique Davray), a hard-faced businesswoman who comforts her meticulously but unemotionally, as though smoothing a 500-franc note. She flies back to her gilded cage in time to preen and twitter...
...Bible translations seem to be born every year: there are Bibles in Basic English, in meter, in I-see-the-cat prose for kindergartens, in Reader's Digest-like condensations. But the New English Bible that is being translated by British Protestant scholars is no such trifle. It is a serious effort to create an accurate Bible in contemporary prose, and its sponsors hope that it will be good enough to replace the King James Version in Christian worship services. The New Testament went on sale last year; the Old will not be ready for publication until...
...with other boys, the lift came slowly, from the boy himself: "All of a sudden I started looking at a man who was petting a cat. I saw the trees and the people for the first time. And I asked George the janitor questions I never would have asked a few days ago−how he got his job, how he got ahead. And he seemed pleased...
...Virginia's accounts are godly; she recalls that "Oscar Sargent bet me my whole bag of gumdrops that Miss Nelly McDonnell's cat couldn't scratch himself out if we buried him. I bet he could. But if he could, he didn't. Oscar says to me. he says 'What do people do with dead bodies?' " Still, she is a properly brought up little girl, and she ends every chapter with a prayer. The one that closes the chapter about her garden party (at which the bishop drank a triple julep and she danced...
Strangers in the City. The camera noses its way along the city streets like an alley cat. It sniffs at battered ashcans spilling over with decaying garbage, a cornucopia of filth. It paws dirty shreds of newspapers that flutter along the sooty pavements like bedraggled kites. It blinks up at row on row of crumbling brownstones, their grimy windows staring back emptily at the street like sightless eyes. The sound track tingles with cool jazz, the dry atonal music of the asphalt jungle, and keens a somber threnody on Spanish guitar strings. The cross-cultural music is apt, for this...