Next day we marched to Kokyar, twelve miles. Route west, across a sandy ridge two miles off, and then up the gully of the Kokyar river, which flows in a narrow winding valley from south to north, between high ridges of sand and gravel, to the town itself which is the capital of this district.

The desert storm was riding in its strength; the travellers lay beneath the mastery of the fell simoom. Whirling wreaths and columns of burning wind, rushed around and over them.

He spent a year breaking down the 45 studies Stapel produced at Tilburg and cataloguing their individual aberrations, noting where the effect size – a standard measure of the difference between the two groups in an experiment – seemed suspiciously large, […]

Let us run in the straight road the race that is incorruptible