The Cold Embrace
The night in the city was going to be especially cold tonight. The sky had been overcast for almost the entire day, leading to a brief although torrential downpour in the mid-afternoon. The streets of the Bronx outside the third-story apartment window that Leonard Jefferson Bennings now looked out were saturated from the July rainstorm and shone with a glimmer he remembered seeing from his bedroom window in Massachusetts many years ago. He wondered if he would ever get to see his childhood home again, and, if he did, would the world of his youth still exist even there? Like the final beams of sunlight of the day, his hope was growing faint as he looked out on what had once been the metropolitan heart of his
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She rarely chose to speak to anyone, but this time she approached the Leonard and the globe, looking down upon it with burning hatred.
"Some day, we'll make those Nazi bastards pay for every inch of land they have taken." She didn't seem to be talking to Leonard as much as to herself; a brief vocalization of a burning obsession. Without even acknowledging the presence of any other human being in the room, she walked out toward the kitchen, probably either to get a drink of water, or to find Eric, the group leader. Leonard had always wondered why it was that she was so consumed by hatred for the Germans. Admittedly, few people in the world had any real reason to love the Nazis, especially with them burning their way across half of New England and in control of or allied with most of rest of the world. Still, Christina's hatred seemed much more personal than pure patriotism; even those in the group who had lost family in the invasion didn't show the level of unbridled hate she did.
The only clue she had ever given as to the source of her rage was one she never spoke. On the extremely rare occasions that she was seen without a full sleeved shirt (an oddity in mid July), Leonard had seen scars, almost like whip marks across her back. She had never spoken of them, or even acknowledged their existence, but Leonard had always suspected that perhaps she had been interned
This knowledge creates pain that is reflected in her words "pierced as by an arrow from the sky of bitterness" (871) and that she felt "as if life had become a desert" (871). "She would lock herself in the bathroom, and sit on the edge of the bath, breathing deep, trying to let go into some kind of calm." (875).
Rural Kansas was a peaceful, welcoming community. The farmers and townspeople were very close and friendly with one another. Nothing bad ever happened in these farming areas because the people were nice and friendly. Until one frightful night, everything changed. Back in 1959, the town of Holcomb, Kansas was absolutely shocked and taken aback by the news of killings that occurred in their small town. The victims were a well-known and loved family from the community. They were brutally murdered in their rural farmhouse. Truman Capote unravels the secrets, rumors, suspicions, and truth about the crime of the small town murder of the Clutter family in his non-fiction book, In Cold Blood: A True Account of a Multiple Murder and Its Consequences.
Since 'In Cold Blood' is an older book, essay topics maybe tired and old by now. So it is important to find new exciting ways to make students think about this book while still using their skills learned in class.
George could not turn his back on New York City because the city had never turned its back on him, even when he had absolutely nothing. The effects of being raised in this sometimes cruel, yet prosperous environment is evident in the life of George Andrews; he represents not only the harsh
On January 2, 1944, she writes, “I was suffering then (and still do) from moods that kept my head under water (figuratively speaking) and allowed me to see things only from my own perspective, without calmly considering what the others – those whom I, with my mercurial temperament, had hurt or offended – had said, and then acting as they would have done.” (paragraph 2 pg
Theme of the story: The conditions of a character's life has a direct influence on how they act in the novel.
“‘You’ll pretend you were men instead of babies, and you’ll be played in the movies by Frank Sinatra and John Wayne or some of those other glamorous, war-loving, dirty old men. And war will look just wonderful, so we’ll have a lot more of them. And they’ll be fought by babies like the babies upstairs.’ So then I understood. It was war that made her so angry.
“And then recite a list of all the things she resented. Politics, for sure. But also the manipulation and secrecy and self-pity and paranoia”
Whatever it was, there was something that offended a young Leona. Her eyebrows furrowed, her cheeks turned red, and finally, she yelled at her dad until, probably, he regretted making the damn thing after all. He didn't come down for dinner that night. Or the night after that. And even after she apologized, the man kept a broken look within his exhausted blue eyes.
The stone streets were a veil at this time of night, with who knows how many menacing horrors hiding behind the curtain. The lingering gas hovering over the ground was timid, dispersing at the sight of anyone who strayed near. The moon tried to pry into the city’s shadows, but it was too thick to cut. The buildings were nothing but faded memories: gray, eroded structures that once boasted splendor and beauty. Street rats, both rodent and human, scuttled about in the alleyways, knocking assortments over and fleeing if anyone walked past, just like the gas. A dog barked in the distance. Car horns blared on 5th Avenue nearby. Tank sighed. No place like home.
Carl hurried through the streets of Boston, his Red Sox baseball cap pulled low over his eyes to cover his graying hair and his mail clutched tightly in his fist. He strode into his cramped apartment and paused in front of the pile of blank canvases leaning against the couch, collecting dust. Carl hadn’t worked in days. His profession wasn’t the kind to call and demand that he return to work. Though he loved the atmosphere of the city, he didn’t envy the life of suits and corporations and business meetings. He preferred to create and, luckily, he was not unsuccessful.
A small, fifteen-year-old boy huddled in a dingy alleyway in the heart of Manhattan. Never mind that it was almost Christmas; all he was really aware of was the bitter cold. He dreaded this time of year for that exact reason. Plus, the homeless shelters were fuller now than at any other time, so he had no hope of finding refuge there.
She is disgusted at her mercenary and calculating sisters, who deceive their father. She prefers to “love and be silent.”
feared for the scowl on her face that was actually only the result of a chronic squint due to her poor
The proposed study is designed to evaluate the impact of primacy-of-warmth effect on impression formation of personality. The primacy of warmth effect entails that the information people are provided with regarding the 'warmth' of a persons personality has a profound effect on their view of that person. It has an effect on impression formation due to the fact that warmth and coldness are seen as central traits, while characteristics such as 'practical' and 'cautious' are known as peripheral traits and have a less profound effect on forming impressions on personality.