Word: protoplasm
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...hate him, and I hate you-part of you . . . That man-this place-they've eaten you up, between them. Eaten up everything that was alive and honest and decent, everything I respected. You're not a man any more . . . You're a piece of-of protoplasm...
...Venus to hunt xixtchil, a scarce, rejuvenating drug, searched desperately for a way to save himself and his lovely companion, Pat Burlingame. They had been backed into a fearsome dusky canyon by the "doughpot," one of the most monstrous creatures on the whole planet. A white mass of nauseous protoplasm weighing several tons, the doughpot had neither intelligence nor any fixed form: it just rolled itself instinctively toward anything edible...
...Then, he "snatched up his drill, took a firm purchase on my hair and teed off. . . Two thin wisps of smoke circled up ward slowly from my ears . . . [my] screams . . . rattled the windows. . . . 'Don't be afraid now,' chuckled the dentist, patting "the mass of protoplasm" that had once been a man; 'this won't hurt...
...Clouds of Time. The Emperor Hirohito's millennial origins were lost in the clouds of time. In the beginning, say the Japanese history books, Heaven & Earth were one, a primal protoplasm drifting in the void like a jellyfish on water. Then the Universe took form. On the Plain of High Heaven the first gods appeared. The Sky Father, Izanagi, stood upon the Rainbow Bridge to Earth and dipped his jeweled spear into the sea. The drops that fell, as he withdrew the blade, congealed into the Japanese archipelago...
Elisabet was sustained by an appealing cast of minor eccentrics. She would never admit that she had married Edmund Montgomery, bastard of a Scottish baron, lifelong searcher for the mainspring of life in the pullulations of protoplasm. All his life he called her "Miss Ney." In his silence, his patience, his courage, his poetic nobility, he emerges as almost a saint. Crescentia ("Cencie") Simath, the maidservant, was apparently paralyzed with love for Edmund and endured, if possible, even more than he did. Lorne, the son, was a tragic, horrifying product of idealism crossed with rampant mother love...