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“Outside my window in the dawn, leaves like tethered beauty breathe on limbs like wind-washed arms, waving in the morning, neither cowed nor bent, they swim invisible and fragrant winds that move my curtains aside to reveal the wake of sudden storms.”
“I crossed the ditch at the top of the hill, passed through the barbed-wire fence and on into the back country, down a few gullies and back up again and then up again still, to the top of a wind-washed sandstone butte where I could see everything I wanted to see.”
“A ladder took them up through a hatch onto a wind-washed deck.”
“He saw nothing of the so-perfect people on their heavenly wind-washed streets.”
“Cassie called the big middle alley the Street-of-the-Flying-Kites because children stood there, unconscious of the mud halfway to their boot tops, their faces lifted to the yellow, green, and gold kites tugging against their hands as they fought to go higher into the wind-washed sky.”
“The February streets, wind-washed by night, blow full of strange half-intermittent damps, bearing on wasted walks in shining sight wet snow plashed into gleams under the lamps, like golden oil from some divine machine, in an hour of thaw and stars.”
“All above the wind-washed graves where dead seamen lie.”
“And the stale and the light, even though so scantly rebounding, the too densely socialised, group was the English, and the "positive" and hardy and steady and wind-washed the French; and it was all as flushed with colour and patched with costume and referable to record and picture, to literature and history, as a more easily amusing and less earnestly uniform age could make it.”
“Walt Whitmanesque exercise in the naming of rivers, and "Into the Dusk-Charged Air", an incantation of deadpan inclusiveness: "The Parnaiba / Is flowing, like the wind-washed”
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