simoom
IPA: sˈɪmum
noun
- A hot, dry, suffocating, dust-laden wind of the desert, particularly of Arabia, Syria, and neighboring countries, generated by the extreme heat of the parched deserts or sandy plains.
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Examples of "simoom" in Sentences
- The approach of the simoom is a dense black cloud of whirling and seething fine dust.
- Presently a kind of simoom was observed to rage in the Scholars 'Bunker, out of which emerged the head of the niblick, the ball, and, finally, BULGER himself.
- African deserts called the simoom, which fills the mouth and nose and ears and eyes with dust till you are suffocated, for fear that I should get some of his good done to me -- some of its virus mingled with my blood.
- The simoom brought nothing with it that resembled a cooling breeze, only dust and sand filtering through the shutters and under the doors, and yet more heat, and some days everything we ate, everything we drank, was full of it.
- He specifies the role of “the steppe winds from the east, opposed [to] the Western in the spirit of a fatalistic resignation to destiny,” and the title of his opening story — “Skushno,” a Russian word for extreme anomie — could well be the name of an enervating wind like the simoom.
- If I knew for a certainty that a man was coming to my house with the conscious design of doing me good, I should run for my life, as from that dry and parching wind of the African deserts called the simoom, which fills the mouth and nose and ears and eyes with dust till you are suffocated, for fear that I should get some of his good done to me — some of its virus mingled with my blood.
- If I knew for a certainty that a man was coming to my house with the conscious design of doing me good, I should run for my life, as from that dry and parching wind of the African deserts called the simoom, which fills the mouth and nose and ears and eyes with dust till you are suffocated, for fear that I should get some of his good done to me, -- some of its virus mingled with my blood.
- If I knew for a certainty that a man was coming to my house with the conscious design of doing me good, I should run for my life as from that dry and parching wind of the African deserts called the simoom, which fills the mouth and the nose and the ears and the eyes with dust till you are suffocated, for fear that I should get some of his good done to me, – some of its virus mingled with my blood.
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