Word: plain
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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...afternoon was hot. When Niobe put her ear to the ground she could hear the sound of teeming life even in the grass. From the mountains great waves of heat rolled and collided in the valleys, and the whole plain was shimmering hot and droway with the metallic whirr of crickets. Insensate she merged with the life all around her, and slept remembering her parents and the day Dion had come to take her away, and the dances around the coremonial fires and the eating and drinking. Endless dreamy days they had lived together by the side of the pool...
...wind in the chimneys moaned and shrilled like some dying titan. It was a fit night for ghoulish purposes, unthinkable horrors that drive the possessor slowly mad. In the cavernous vault the noise of thunder rolled and broke with the insistence of throbbing tom-toms. Somewhere out over the plain of roofs gleaming with water and the trees that tossed their branches in a spasm of agony as if to relieve some obsessing pain, a bell tolled the hour like a bad omen...
...resounding piety and dissension in the Church of England and in the collateral Protestant Episcopal Church of the U. S. High-Churchmen in England and Anglo-Catholics in the U. S. wanted symbolism, celibacy and other "Romish" practices in their worship. Opposed were the Low-Churchmen and the plain Episcopalians, who detested every smack of Rome...
...various well-meaning classes. Seldom if ever have I seen the gates all open during the day-time. Of course, at night there is an excuse and all except a few of the gates must be kept closed so that all entrances can be adequately watched by the plain-clothes men, but in the broader light of day there is no reason why the battallion of janitors who foregather in the basement of Harvard Hall should not shoulder their rusty keys and throw wide all the gates. The portals that are now life unlocked usually have one gate sadly ajar...
...write the life of a plain man with all the pomp & circumstance of a full-dress biography might seem a satirical idea; in unkinder hands than Phyllis Bentley's such a book might be a reductio ad absurdum of both subject and method. But Authoress Bentley's intentions and accomplishment are honorably serious. Though she sets the stage with such reverent care that the reader expects a notable if not tycoonish hero, the curtain has not been up long before alert spectators realize that the spectacle will be unspectacular. Authoress Bentley succeeds, however, in transfiguring her average...