Undust

Un`dust´


v. t.1.To free from dust.
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References in classic literature ?
The quadroon sat for hours before Edna's palette, patient as a savage, while the house-maid took charge of the children, and the drawing-room went undusted. But the housemaid, too, served her term as model when Edna perceived that the young woman's back and shoulders were molded on classic lines, and that her hair, loosened from its confining cap, became an inspiration.
It was that rich afternoon sunlight that loves to flash into teacups as though they were crocuses, that loves to run a golden finger along the beautiful wrinkles of old faces and light up the noble hollows of age-worn eyes; the sunlight that loves to fall with transfiguring beam on the once dear book we never read, or, with malicious inquisitiveness, expose to undreamed- of detection the undusted picture, or the gold- dusted legs of remote chairs, which the poor housemaid has forgotten.
Bread looked up the staircase and then down and then she looked at the undusted nymph, as if she possibly had sentient ears.
I had three pieces of limestone on my desk, but I was terrified to find that they required to be dusted daily, when the furniture of my mind was all undusted still, and threw them out the window in disgust.
Fortunately, she is quite good at making lemon-meringue, and it's her employer who ultimately learns to give her very precise instructions such as "undust the furniture".
There is also a lot of dust, which builds up because in order to undust, everything would first have to be swept away, and that has never happened.
What we need to describe that routine sensibly is a word such as "dedust" or "undust."
I was seven when I first met Socrates, through the Great dialogues of Socrates that sat undusted on my parents' bookshelf (I'd have preferred Enid Blyton, but had already reread them all).
"Or just move all my journals and then the bottom shelf can be for your undusted books."
Laughter, it becomes apparent, is this incredible woman's life-line: the memories and anecdotes she's told a thousand times still make her wrinkled face light up with a touching naivete when she remembers a punchline or conjures up an image that had been sitting for years undusted in her memory archive.
The undusted, glossed over quotes from Habib Jalib, Faiz, Zehra Nigah and others begin to blear bombastically, in hitherto smugly nurtured silence that otherwise hangs disinterestedly over vanquished vigils and doomed dreams.
Indeed, the 'black boxes' that must be undusted do not lie in Morocco or Algeria but rather within the French and Spanish archives.