Unit 2: Vocabulary from Readings 2

Not only did he fight, he was wounded in a skirmish at Rose Creek—a famous encounter in which the celebrated Kaw chief Flat Nose lost his life.

“All of us have rituals of one kind or another,” Mrs. Richardson said. “And look at it this way: how many girls have the opportunity to compete on equal terms with boys? Don’t look down on your heritage.”

“Endurance is the loftiest virtue of the Indian,” my grandfather explained.

“Many didn’t return,” Grandfather said. “Only the strongest and shrewdest. Mothers were not allowed to weep over those who didn’t return. If a Kaw couldn’t survive, he or she wasn’t worth weeping over. It was our way.”

“You’d make a terrible warrior.” Roger just grimaced.

I was inwardly shocked at my own audacity.

The cold soon penetrated his quilted jacket.

He realized that he was no longer on the road. He had gone astray.

Stubbornly she anchored her cleft hooves in the earth and bleated as if pleading to be taken home.

The dried hay, grass, and field flowers exuded the warmth of the summer sun.

It was all white, quiet, dreaming dreams of heavenly splendor. The stars were large and close. The moon swam in the sky as in a sea.

The earthquake of twelve years ago had brought down all the old structures, and since the citizens of Pompeii were ambitious to rival Naples and even Rome, they had seized the opportunity to rebuild the whole town.

He was thankful for his keen ears and quick instinct—most thankful of all for Bimbo.

Hissings and groanings and muffled cries that a dying creature might make dislodging the stones of his underground cave.

The red hot ashes blistered his skin; the stinging vapors tore his throat.

Because my father had worked a full week at the shop, where a rush order for fancy combs had been received, he allotted my brothers and sisters and me an extra dime along with the usual ten cents for the Saturday-afternoon movie.

He regarded me with contempt.

I did not divulge his secret and often shared his agony, particularly when he sat at the supper table and left my mother’s special butterscotch pie untouched.

His mood of dejection mirrored my own, and I sat down beside him.

I was puzzled by my lethargy. Wasn’t spring supposed to make everything bright and gay?