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Sermo in circulis est liberior.

I had three chairs in my house; one for solitude, two for friendship, three for society. Henry David Thoreau, Walden.

Issue N 30 February-April 2012. Journal of the Department of English

Sultan Moulay Slimane University, Faculty of Letters, Beni Mellal, Morocco.

Editor: Khalid Chaouch.


Editorial: The Mouse/Keyboard Theory! The Poets Corner: A Poem Says a Lot in a Little Pen Circle Prize (2011/2012): List of Awardees A View from the Teachers Lounge by Elkhdar Abdelmoula, SLCE Master (2011-2012) A State of Loss by Jaouad Markoni, S5 (2011-2012) Tahnanait, A Rural Woman Who Is Always Sixty by Mohamed Handour, SLCE Master (2011-2012) Sorry, My Cigarette! by Jaafar Nabaoui, S5 (2011-2012) Report on Occidentalism vs. Orientalism International Conference Doubt by Omnia Regragui, S3 (2011-2012) Here Again by Hicham Ouaarabi, S1 (2011-2012) My Pungent Quotations: They said about the Rich ... Proverbs of the Moment: Counsel and Advice My Enigmatic Pen Circles Looking for Clues among DESERT Terms Crosswords N 30... 02 04 05 06 08 09 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

Pen Circle
Sultan Moulay Slimane University Faculty of Letters and Humanities, Department of English BP. 524, Beni Mellal, Morocco. Fax: 212 (0)5 23 48 17 69 Email: Pen Circle is also available at Dpartements

L. L. Anglaises

Editorial Board Mly. Lmustapha MAMAOUI, Mohamed RAKII, Redouan SADI.

Pen Circle n 30 EDITORIAL


The Mouse/Keyboard Theory

Needless to say that the Internet has become an essential source of information and an invaluable companion to any scholar, more particularly to University students and researchers. The aim here is not to elaborate on the unquestionable benefits and the highly rewarding advantages of this inexhaustible resource. It is rather to draw students attention to some practices that could prevent them from getting the best of the Net. If we try to classify Internet users for research purposes, we will realize that they fall, at least at the theoretical level, into three main categories of researchers: those who produce online material; those who consume it; and those who belong to the mainstream category of consumers and producers at the same time. It is clear that the most hard-working category is the first one, since it produces information and controls its flow. It is the category of researchers who think, plan, organize and use different material for the sake of producing research papers, generating new ideas, publishing original works, and hosting papers and documents on one side of the Net. They are, in a certain way, those who actively do research and put it at the disposal of other users/consumers, hence selecting the kind of ideas to circulate in the world. On the other side of the Net, the weakest category of researchers is the one that consumes material passively without any original outcome or plus value result. In the course of my dealing with Internet sources and their use for the sake of research advancement, I have developed a kind of primitive and simplistic theory on the barometer that could help me assess my relation to the Net. The theory is very simple, especially as regards research works and activities in the fields of arts and humanities. To verify it, I proceeded as follows:

Pen Circle n 30 -3Whenever I am in front of the computer screen, I try to notice which hardware material I am been using most: the mouse or the keyboard? The theory is that if I am using the keyboard more than the mouse, this means, in most cases, that I am more likely to belong to people who are generating new texts and who are, thus, producing original material regardless of its quality. On the other hand, if I notice that my fingertips are more sticking to the mouse (especially for select, copy, and paste functionalities in WORD or PDF documents), even in the process of producing research or critical material, then I am sure that, as such, I would be a mere collecting researcher and a passive consumer of others material, exactly as in the phase of primitive humanity, when our ancestors were contenting themselves with picking up plants and fruits instead of working the land. The attitude towards Internet material research productivity could take a pathological turn when the consuming researcher expropriates information and material without expressing adequate credits and without paying due homage to the original producers. Any student-researcher who is in the process of working on a BA or Master research paper is in need of Internet resources, as are Doctoral, Postdoctoral or academician researchers, but the positive attitude of using online material and, at the same time, producing original material is to be acquired at an early phase, before doing research, until it becomes an essential one. In the last analysis, the computer screen becomes, for all such researchers, a kind of virtual border between both categories of Internet users. And it is up to each one to decide to which category of Internauts he/she wants to belong. So, seize the Net and choose your side! Khalid Chaouch

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The Poets Corner

This corner is devoted both to prominent figures in poetry and to ambitious students who dare to embark in the process of creative writing. Students attempts should be sent by email or presented in legible handwriting, and submitted to a member of Pen Circle Editorial Board.

A Poem Says a Lot in a Little*

A poem is a record of experience to be shared. The poet sees or does or thinks or feels, and he passes along his observations and actions and ideas and emotions to the reader. This what the prose writer does too, but the poets job is a harder one. The prose writer can leisurely develop his theme, making abundant use of details. But the poet is held down by the conventions, or rules, of his form. He must evoke emotional and intellectual responses in the fewest possible words, usually through careful use of language. He chooses his material with special care and screens his language for useless words. Careful selection and sifting result in compression: he says a lot in a little... Like anyone else, a poet uses words first for their meaning. But he often tries to pack more meaning into them than does the prose writer: Arthur with a hundred spears Rode far. What two meanings does the word spears have in the above? The poet is also concerned with the connotations of words, the emotions and associations they stir up in us. For example, what two very different pictures of, and responses to, to a brook do have in: I chatter, chatter as I flow I babble on the pebbles and I murmur under moon and stars . . . Because the poet cuts away all needless words and packs the useful ones with all possible meaning and emotion, poetry should be read slowly and carefully. Ever word has a purpose; to understand a poem fully, you have to be aware of the meaning and connotation that each word carries.
*Robert C. Pooley et al., Projection in Literature. Glenview Illinois: Scott, Foresman and Company, 1967, p. 196.

* Q* Q * Q* Q * Q* Q* Q*

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Pen Circle Prize for Mellali Writers in English (2011/2012) List of Awardees
This year we have received a considerable number of attempts, a fact that reflects the students interest in this competition and their desire to express themselves in creative writing. To give more opportunities to burgeoning talents, we have decided to raise the number of winners to 6 (two from Master studies, two from Semester 5, one from Semester 3, and one from Semester 1), since the aim of this journal is to encourage students to write. So the five winners of Pen Circle Prize for the current academic year (2011/2012) are: - Hicham OUAARABI, S1, for his poem Here Again (see p. 15 on this issue.) - Omnia REGRAGUI, S3, for her poem Doubt (p. 14.) - Jawad MARKONI, S5, for his poem A State of Loss (p. 08.) - Jaafar NABAOUI, S5, for his poem Sorry, My Cigarette! (p. 12.) - Elkhdar ABDELMOULA, SLCE Master, for his short story The Teachers Lounge (pp. 6-7). - Mohamed HANDOUR, SLCE Master, for his short story Tahnanait, a Rural Woman Who Is Always Sixty. (An excerpt of this short story is on pp. 9-11.) As usual, and for creative reasons, we have reprinted the contributions as they were submitted (except for some very few corrections). Congratulation, winners! Good Luck to other candidates in the next prize!

Pen Circle n 30 Pen Circle Prize Winners


A View from the Teachers Lounge It a twenty meters square cold dull room, with some old Moroccanmade couches, Sdader, and some mangy pillows scattered here and there. At the corner of this space, one would see a wooden counter, behind it stood a middle aged woman whos in charge of brewing tea for the teachers during break times. Three sets of Moroccan tea pots are laid out before the lady with bunches of drinking glasses; the big sized tea pot is made with absinth, the medium with mint and the smallest is without sugar, as many teachers are diabetic. The three pots are ironically lined up like horses in a parade with their spouts, like rifles, pointed out towards the leaking ceiling of the room! There is also an old rectangular wooden table with four robust legs which is used for many purposes; sometimes as a desk for teachers to fill in a form, and at other times as a small mail box where most of our mandatory bank letters are deposited. On the well polished domes of the tea pots one would see the reflection of whats going on in the room. It is 4 P.M and teachers were coming in slowly, and short of energy. They sat down carefully on the couches. Each one was holding a glass of tea between his or her hands as it was a freezing day, trying to get warm. I felt sorry that our room lacked the heat needed for in cold days. Some were nibbling a two-Dirham muffin- like toothless babies- trying to gain some slight energy for the coming teaching hours. They were sipping the magic drink in an awkward silence. Only the voices of the dried lips which can hardly touch the brims of the tea glasses, but the tea scum would stop the shivering action, declaring the end of a prestigious moment.
The air in the room was quite melancholic. Teachers were wearing white blazers almost like pallbearers-with clouds of chalk patches, holding old frazzled satchels that come in black and brown colors with faded shades. The whole scene gave one the impression of a mourning assembly. Words were scarce; teachers only exchanged exhausted looks, frowns, hand waving.body language! The room is a non-smoking area. There is, however, an open air place reserved to smokers outside. Inside, few teachers would dare chat and talk about the ebbs and flows of this warrior-like job, teaching. They try to minimize efforts and save energy for the coming barking hours. In return, they get only insults, ridiculed, called names and nicknames at the end of the day. They are trying hard to say something to the young men and

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women of this nation, mold their future and usher them into a brighter life. Teach them or preach its all the same, though; chalk and talk approaches control the creative hands and minds of these metamorphosed body creatures we dare call teachers! Their faces are wearing the fixity of thoughtful men; unmerciful time has chiseled octogenarian faces on their tiny figures. One would see them blind, bald or grey haired. They wear shabby clothes that lack the brightness and glamour called for in new businesses nowadays, mostly khaki or black coats, black pants and plaid shirts, polished shoes, and black Casio watches .Their voices are getting coarse after many years of talking with no rewards and no retreats, only plans and schemes, hopes and promises that one day our wretched situation will change; one day well have white boards that would enlighten our dark teaching history, one day well have fifteen well mannered students with single seats. One day we will have offices where students contact us when they need help. One day well have high salaries and low debts, enough money to be able to change our rusty bicycles into motorcycles, clunkers into cars, to be able to move from shacks to houses, from the suburb to the city, from darkness to light. One day we will be able to break the unmerciful unknowledgeable fingers which point at us, mouths weaving jokes about our daily practices, and brains belittling us to things and to victims while we are supposed to be the elites of this ill society. We are agents of change or would I say prophets -our early historical label. Norway! We are turned out to be a piece of drifting wood, to quote Ernest J .Gaines. We live unseen; die unseen, and unheard as well. While we are supposed to be the real town celebrities, the one thousand dollar faces, brave hearts, men and womenIts a pity that we are becoming so little in everybodys eyes, as if the earth is turning upside down and our mission is nothing sublime, but to show off our knowledge pride then disappear in darkness of years, decades and months. The old school bell rang again at 4:05 P.M then I had to go embrace my opaque destiny, wear my six pairs of hands and three pair of eyes, and open the doors of my predicament trying to lock doors of the students jail, mental, physical or emotional. The graffiti on the wall in front of me added insults to injury and summed the whole scene up: KILL YOU, TEACHER!

SLCE Master (2011-2012)

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Pen Circle Prize Winners

A State of Loss Illusion scattered my youthful thoughts. Deception fixed the lurking pain within my weak ribs, Armageddon of dignity over love, Which to let go and which to take, It ached my brain as well as all that remain. Gloom imposed itself, weakened me, Darkened my beautiful day, blackened the sky. So dreary was the night you left My calls to stay didnt make you delay Because of you I lost my peace of mind, Surely I wont gain it, no way! a sea of ink is what I need to put my scrambled words into order a divine aid is what may gather my pathless imagination. Was it all a dream destiny didnt make it come true? Or just a scene you were supposed to play so well! My wounded soul is silently screaming, The echo spreads through the world, Pierce the skies to swim into infinity It will never fade away till I turn into ashes.
Jaouad MARKONI Semester 5 (2011-2012)

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Pen Circle Prize Winners

Tahnanait, a Rural Woman Who Is Always Sixty
High in the Atlas Mountains lives an old Amazigh lady who never knows the true meaning of despondency and depression in spite of her abject poverty and solitary existence. Her real name is Hadda, but people call her Tahnanait. Whatever this word means in Tamazight, whether it is illustrated in the dictionary or not and regardless of its positive or negative meaning, this old womans solid personality and unshakable chastity are what really count for me () It was so chilly that afternoon, I still remember. I was in a hurry to get a box of sugar and a packet of tea which my mother badly needed for our dinner. It was winter then. There were dark clouds in the sky. Certainly, it was going to rain soon. Aunt Tahnanait was aware of that. She walked on with tireless energy like a well-trained athlete. I followed her; for my house stood alone on a little hill far beyond the old womans humble abode. I had to shake a leg to catch up with her. Though I was just a boy and as sound as a bell, I couldnt keep pace with her. She walked past olive trees, past Mohmmad ou Aadis house, past AIT Chaaou (my uncles) with all her might. I felt a drop of rain on my head; it began to rain. I was doing my best to catch up with her but couldnt as she was incredibly fast. It was raining heavily now. I was so scared of the rain, so scared of the ghosts and phantoms which I would often hear in my grandmothers Amazigh tales and anecdotes. The bare trees and stones, two hundred meters away, were black and looked like some unearthly creatures. Overwhelmed by rain, fear and cold I gave in. I had to call out to the strong old lady. Wa khalli Tahnanait! Wa khalli Tahnanait!, I repeated. Naam Ayarbanw awa naam!, she responded. (Yes, my dear child! Yes, my dear!) I didnt have to call her several times as she had very good ears though she had never resorted to any drops or similar medicine whenever she had an earache or any other pain, either physical or psychological as I would discover later. Irbbi ql zari dinagh hat taghi tassa(please wait for me there. I am scared), was my request.

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Wakha. Srba. Hat iqnd ssihl. Ila ousmid. Aanigh tignout ayya win ddouri. Ghir ayg Rbbi sslamt (Ok. Hurry up! I am here waiting for you. Its so cold and rainy. It is so black, so dark in the west. More rain was to come. Perhaps it was torrential rain). Her reply gave me more power and energy to run as fast as I could. Because of that effort up that precipitous slope, beads of perspiration were running down my boyish cheeks but I didnt care as long as Khalli Tahnanait was there waiting for me. I said, Hello and shyly kissed the old womans hand. My father used to say: ssodounat afous iwanna kn yougrn(when you greet the elderly kiss their hands). All Amazigh children are brought up this way to show full respect to those who are older than them. Yiws nmi at tgit (who is your father?) she asked Yiws n Moha ou Aaddi (He is Moha ou Aaddi) . She inquired further about his health, especially his joints and muscles as he suffered from a sort of chronic arthritis. She also asked about my mother and how she was doing with the housework chores. For my part, I asked how she was and then we resumed our walk uphill. Aflla s Rebbi Aflla, (going upwards; still going upwards), she muttered as we got near her hut. I would like to provide some comment even if her words were not meant for me, but I was interrupted by a deafening rumble of thunder on the horizon. Another crash came then another accompanied by lightening in the east. I was startled by the horrible sound which made me jump in my place. I couldnt control myself, especially as a strong wind began to blow and more rain began to fall. As for the old woman she was continuously walking with a sense of total indifference to this awful weather. Dont worry my boy!, she said trying to reassure me. Here is my house. Come and take shelter, she added. I wont let you go until it stops raining. Although the sun was setting, I didnt turn down her offer as it was still raining heavily, heavier than before. Tahnanait warmly invited me into her one-room house. She impatiently took the packet of Casa (the cheapest home-made brand) out of her bosom and lit one; even if I was there, she couldnt help it. She told me that she hadnt smoked for three days as she was short of money. Three days is such a long

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period for an addict. She then hid the packet in a hole where a window should have been. Now that she had regained her concentration, she went to the fire place and lit a fire. We indulged in the wavy flames. As I stretched out my hands over them to get some warmth making sure I was close enough to the pit for my wet shirt to dry, Khalli Hadda was busy washing a little rusty pot to make tea. In a few minutes, her tea was ready; she filled two cups: one for me and one for her and lit another cigarette. She enjoyed puffing as she took a sip of her favorite drink. She snatched a drag and then stood up so quickly as if she had just remembered something important. She cast a look at the ceiling followed by another at the front part of the room to the left. There in a dark corner stood a ewe and her baby with some grass and straw in front of them. I always make sure the ewe has enough to eat or the baby would die from hunger, she said. But I was not sure she was speaking to me. She pressed the baby sheep so tightly to her bosom as if it were her only little child and whispered a few words in its ear. Then she carefully placed it near her mother to ensure its comfort and happiness. When she went back to her place near the fire pit, I expected her to talk about the sheep but she didnt. She suddenly ceased to drink the tea. I could easily infer from the look on her face that she wasnt there anymore; she was absentminded; she was lost in some reverie. I didnt have the intention to disturb her peaceful thinking. So, I kept absolutely silent trying to keep my feet still and my head well-fixed between my shoulders; I knew I had to avoid the slightest movement of any part of my body so that the old lady could indulge in her deep reveries. She undoubtedly had already set out for some long inward journey; a journey back in time which served as a kind of mental exercising to allay her stress, her downright solitude , isolation and deprivation in that seemingly dreary world of her. ()

Mohamed HANDOUR SLCE Master (2011-2012)

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Pen Circle Prize Winners

Sorry, My Cigarette!

When voices are heard on the green And laughing are heard on the hill My heart is at rest in my chest And everything else is still Listen to me when I say If theres no more love to give Dont look back when you leave I may forget and love again I may stand and ease my pain There no more tears in my eye Ive already managed to kiss them all away I learnt how I should heal my heart When we were apart Dont look back; I wont kneel at your feet Asking you to stay Or seeking for another way back to your heart Sorry my cigarette I couldnt taste the benefit of kissing you Sorry my cigarette I am no longer in love with you I want to change my habit Because I like to ride When all the world goes to bed To the top of the hill, where the sky grows wide And where the sun grows red.
Jaafar NABAOUI Semester 5 (2011-2012) ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

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English Department Activities

Report on the International Conference

Occidentalism vs. Orientalism

(Beni Mellal, 17-18 April 2012) The Research Laboratory on Culture and Communication (RLCC) organized an International Conference on Occidentalism vs. Orientalism on 17-18 April 2012 at the Faculty of Letters and Humanities, Beni Mellal. The panelists, who came from six foreign countries (Austria, England, France, Japan, Poland, and Turkey) and six national universities (Agadir, Casablanca (Ain Chok), El-Jadida, Fez, Mohammadia, and Beni Mellal) approached the issues of the Conference from different perspectives. After the theoretical session, which approached critically the concept of Occidentalism and its relation to (or disconnection from) Orientalist, Postcolonial, Exoticizing, Westernizing, or other discourses, the other sessions tackled the concept of Occidentalism and how it is applied and manifested in the different contexts of language, literature, media, art, travel writing, tourism, etc. The presentations triggered heated debates and elicited pertinent questions and comments from the audience. Members of the Research Laboratory on Culture and Communication contributed to this important event with the following papers: Cherki Karkaba: The Conquest of the West in Tayeb Salihs A Season of Migration to the North. Moulay Lmustapha Mamaoui: Western Culture and Moroccan Society. Khalid Chaouch: Claiming Estevanico de Azamor in the Labyrinth of Oriental/Western Identities. This International Conference was a real success, and a selection of the presented papers will be considered for publication in the next issue of Middle Ground, Journal of the Research Laboratory on Culture and Communication. As usual, the awarding ceremony of Pen Circle Prize of Mellali Writers in English, took place at the Closing Session of this International Conference.

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Pen Circle Prize Winners

Doubt Early Reality Lost Dreams Hopes confused Three little words Out too early Frozen limbs, heart-beating Unknown disease reappeared Words disunited As this life Dead crushed On gravel I'm a bird Flying too high Omnia REGRAGUI Semester 03 (2011-2012)
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Pen Circle Prize Winners

Here Again Here again, surrounded by time I cannot die, I cannot stay Alone, with none To be with, It has something to do with you Look to the pen, maybe I can stay Write, delete But cannot die, cannot stay Here again with none Trying, maybe I can die Here I am bleeding from my heart Watching people walking Feeling every season Winter, spring, summer and autumn And unable to cry the spring Here again timeless Because I cannot die And I dont know How Ill be able to stay. Hicham OUAARABI Semester 01 (2011-2012)
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Pungent Quotations

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In this column, we present a selection of quotations by prominent figures of art, literature, politics, history, philosophy, science, etc. Any suggestion or contribution is cordially welcome.

They said about the RICH !!!

Few rich men own their own property. Their property owns them. R. G. Ingersoll (1833-1899), Address to the McKinley League. His best companions, innocence and health; And his best riches, ignorance of wealth. Oliver Goldsmith (1728-1774), The Deserted Village, 59. A rich mans joke is always funny. T. E. Brown (1830-1897), The Doctor. Laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the law. Oliver Goldsmith (1728-1774), The Traveler. If you can actually count your money, then you are not a really rich man. Jean Paul Getty (1892-1976) Rich men amenable to use are hard to find and often very intractable when found. H. G. Wells (1866-1946) The Autocracy of Mr. Parham. If all the rich men in the world divided up their money amongst themselves, there wouldnt be enough to go round. Christina Stead (1902-1983) House of All Nations.
- Cohen, J. M. and M. J. Cohen, The Penguin Dictionary of Modern Quotations. Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin Books Ltd., 1980. - Cohen, J. M. and M. J. Cohen, The Penguin Dictionary of Quotations. Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin Books Ltd., 1983.

Selected by Khalid Chaouch.

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Proverbs of the Moment

Counsel and Advice

Good counsel has no price. Good counsel never comes too late. Counsel is irksome when the matter is past remedy. When a thing is done, advice comes too late. He that will not be counselled cannot be helped. Too much consulting confounds. Like counsellor, like counsel. Night is the mother of counsel. The best advice is found on the pillow. If the counsel be good, no matter who gave it. Advice whispered is worthless. It is hard to follow good advice as to give it.

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My Enigmatic Pen Circles

N 30
1 2 3 4 5 6 7




Find the appropriate words to fill the vertical square diagrams (110) so as to find out the letters needed to fill the horizontal line made up of 12 circles. The 2 resulting words are the name of a Russian playwright.
1- Device for reducing the speed of a car 2- One 100th part of a dollar (pl.) 3- Not before 4- Small stream 5- Thirty-one days 6- A pair of short stockings 7- Think of with hatred and disgust; detest 8- Gas or vapour into which boiling water changes 9- Who makes things! 10- Of ashes; pale; ash-coloured 11- Liquid that runs in our veins 12- At no time; on no occasion

Clues to My Enigmatic Pen Circles N 29











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20 Clues, N 30

Looking for Clues among DESERT Terms!

The 20 clues below are hidden in the terms at the end of each line. To find them, cross off some of the letters in each term (from left to right.) Example: - Social rank CATASTROPHE (The clue is CASTE. It is obtained by crossing off the letters TA and ROPH in CATASTROPHE)

1. International Organization.. DUNES 2. Conjunction connecting words, etc. SAND 3. Feeling of violent anger ... MIRAGE 4. Having an ash-colored face PALMTREE 5. Pronoun . PIT 6. To strike ... THIRST 7. Past form of an irregular verb DATES 8. A University degree COBRAS 9. An egoist pronoun ...... CAMELS 10. Loud unpleasant sound .... BEDOUIN 11. Adverb used in comparisons ... OASIS 12. Military action ...... WATER 13. Name of a winter constellation HORIZON 14. Payment for the use of land or a building. SERPENT 15. 1000 kg ... PYTHON 16. Company ... SIROCCO 17. Make an opening or a slice with a knife SCOUT 18. We shall .. WELLS 19. Policeman .... SCORPION 20. Bull or cow .. FOX
20 Clues to n 29: 1. but 2. bad 3. pen 4. rites 5. rector 6. bard 7. ex8. can 9. Stop! 10. rice 11. CAIR 12. mute 13. ads. 14. Id 15. base 16. ape 17. step 18. ebook 19. see 20. MP. Clues to CROSSWORDS N 29 A B C D E F G H I J K L
1 N 2 O 3 M 4 A 5 N S 6 7 L 8 A 9 N 10 D 11 12



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1- Scholar specialized in the past. 2- People of this Continent. 3- Flowing out of the tide Powerful explosive. 4Allow someone to do, or allow something to happen Find it in err. 5- Country that was known as The Realm of the Evening Star Place to sleep on. 6- Very grateful to someone An egoist pronoun. 7- Russian affirmative answer French conditional Smell (n.) (American spelling). 8- Suffix meaning without something Tenth month of the year 9- The remains of fire Date-giving tree Extra-terrestrial. 10- Way out of a public building. 11- A Martial art The most beautiful and most useful satellite around the earth.
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11



A- To behold Musical note A musical note in the Sol-fa system Small brown songbird. B- Persons having golden or pale-coloured. C- Shopkeeper who sells articles for sewing. DConditional conjunction Find it in AXA. E- ~ Lanka (SouthEast Asian country) American news agency Large deep hole in the ground. F- Information Technologies (reversed) To make something start working G- October Old English language. HPosition that somebody has in the army, the navy, or in society Death, destruction, or any terrible event. I- Global (abbr.) The district that hosts the federal capital of the USA To make. JAdverb used in comparisons Far away. K- Opposite of chaos An ordinal number.