ellauri052.html on line 753: So they wrestled swiftly, rapturously, intent and mindless at last, two essential white figures working into a tighter closer oneness of struggle, with a strange, octopus-like knotting and flashing of limbs in the subdued light of the room; a tense white knot of flesh gripped in silence between the walls of old brown books. Now and again came a sharp gasp of breath, or a sound like a sigh, then the rapid thudding of movement on the thickly-carpeted floor, then the strange sound of flesh escaping under flesh. Often, in the white interlaced knot of violent living being that swayed silently, there was no head to be seen, only the swift, tight limbs, the solid white backs, the physical junction of two bodies clinched into oneness. Then would appear the gleaming, ruffled head of Gerald, as the struggle changed, then for a moment the dun-coloured, shadow- like head of the other man would lift up from the conflict, the eyes wide and dreadful and sightless.
ellauri092.html on line 90: At first Moody could satisfy himself so that was ok. But the persistence of these ladies led him to meet and pray with them. They poured out their hearts asking Cod to fill them with His servant's Spirits. From that day a deep hunger and thirst gripped Moody. By October he was in agony for sole as he prayed and munched Cod for the promised gift. At times he would roll on the floor in agony with the ladies and in tears with this singular prayer to be baptised in the Holy Mackerel grilled with fire. This was a wrestle between his willy and Cod’s willy. It was that very month that Chicago burnt to the ground by ghost fire. All his works, efforts and organizational committees literally went up in a blaze. Shortly after this while passing through New York on his way to Britain the second time Cod heard his prayer. As he walked the streets his willy bent before Cod's, the power of the Golden Horde fell upon him, the Ford drew near and revealed Himself to be His servant. Moody rushed to a friend’s house and asked for rum and to be left alone. Hour after hour he bathed in the presence of Cod as the Holy Mackerels filled him. So strong was this that he cried out to Cod to stay in His hand lest He die. He was filled with the joy of the Gourd. When he left that house it was in the power of the fire, just like Chicago the other day.
ellauri117.html on line 251: So they wrestled swiftly, rapturously, intent and mindless at last, two essential white figures working into a tighter closer oneness of struggle, with a strange, octopus-like knotting and flashing of limbs in the subdued light of the room; a tense white knot of flesh gripped in silence between the walls of old brown books. Now and again came a sharp gasp of breath, or a sound like a sigh, then the rapid thudding of movement on the thickly-carpeted floor, then the strange sound of flesh escaping under flesh. Often, in the white interlaced knot of violent living being that swayed silently, there was no head to be seen, only the swift, tight limbs, the solid white backs, the physical junction of two bodies clinched into oneness. Then would appear the gleaming, ruffled head of Gerald, as the struggle changed, then for a moment the dun-coloured, shadow- like head of the other man would lift up from the conflict, the eyes wide and dreadful and sightless.
ellauri156.html on line 806: (6) It was the story of the slaughter of a lamb which exposed the immensity of David's sin. It is the story of the slaughter of The Lamb of God which exposes the immensity of our sins. (I am not suggesting that this comparison is on all fours, though the thought is close. Like the rich man slaughtering the poor people's only lamb to have a feast.) Isn't it amazing that David was so blinded by his own sin that he could not see it? It was by means of the story of the slaughter of a poor man's pet lamb that David was gripped with the immensity of the sin which was his own. David could see his own sin when he heard the story of what appeared to be the sin of another.
ellauri214.html on line 543: The daughter of two literature teachers, little Olga grew up near the border with Czechoslovakia, hiding under tables to eavesdrop on adult conversations. As a teenager she was gripped by Freud, then Jung, thrilled by the discovery that “every tiny thing you did had a deeper meaning . . . those ideas turned the world into a book I could read.”
xxx/ellauri091.html on line 782: Practical work alone, however, did not exhaust the aspirations that gripped Emily Balch. She felt the need both to acquire knowledge and to pass it on to others if she was to achieve more. And so she continued her studies, first in Paris under Levasseur1, the historian of the French working class, and later in Berlin where she studied that branch of economics which has been called a «professor-chair socialism»2. Here she also came in contact with the European labor movement and attended the Socialist Trade Union Congress in 1896.
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