They had only in them the rolled mattresses, the neatly piled bed-boards and the empty tea-buckets of the orderly-men, empied of their last gun-fire.
The notion that the Sabra fights clean-handedly a morally justified war and that Jewish combatants are ever better than any of their opponents, emerges with striking clarity from the chronicles of the 1948 Convoy of the Thirty-five event.
Where shall we go for a walk? How about Ashcombe Bottom?
It was a memory of a poetry lesson in her training college in Liverpool: an earnest Empsonian young man, not really attractive.
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