"30 Minute Meals" host Ray

Usage examples of rachael.

Art and Rachael Chaffy, had been Cols. And the second couple, Stuart and Mrs.

I was sent for by Mrs. Rachael, and found him in the same place, as if he had never gone away.

But I thought that he had pleasant eyes, although he kept on muttering to himself in an angry manner and calling Mrs. Rachael names.

I began with my overshadowed childhood, and passed through those timid days to the heavy time when my aunt lay dead, with her resolute face so cold and set, and when I was more solitary with Mrs. Rachael than if I had had no one in the world to speak to or to look at.

For example, the android talking to Rick Deckard could say a phrase, and then when we pick the other Rachael up with Isidore, she could repeat the exact words -- an audiotrack superimposition, with the voice echoing itself as in a sort of electronic echo chamber, much improved on our own.

Rachael had brought her godchild a quite expensive set of pastel crayons and a large drawing pad with stiff white paper, it was Rachael's custom to bring Cecie a present when she visited, however frequently, or infrequently, she visited, and of course the child had grown to expect it, but what could you do?

Each time Thea tried to turn the conversation onto a serious subject, Rachael fussed and laughed over Cecie who was intent upon showing off, hovering about the adult women like a hummingbird, both shy and aggressive, fingers jammed into her mouth.

So Thea was excluded, and Rachael went with Cecie into Cecie's room and the two sat at Cecie's little table, Cecie eagerly drawing with the new pastel crayons, chattering rapidly, and Rachael praised her skill at drawing (were these gorgeously colored zigzag figures animals?

A powerful sense of deja vu swept over her as if the little girl were herself, or Rachael was herself Cecie, and had lived through this interlude, and would live through it again, and again.

Rachael was moaning "Cecie, oh Cecie, my God" even as the little girl whimpered and squirmed away from her, and her mother hurried into the room to intervene.

I looked up and saw Rachael behind the counter, somewhat friendlier than she'd been earlier and clearly alive and kicking.

Rachael made a show of sipping bitter black Ceylon tea, trying to listen to the older woman's meandering conversation, even as she was distracted by a large, faint, wine-colored stain on the carpet near her feet.

Cecie's mother Thea was one of Rachael's oldest friends, a writer, translator, professor of comparative literature in whose presence, this evening, Rachael was feeling awkward.

At the door, Rachael stammered an apology as one might apologize for another person in one's charge, a person of diminished responsibility whose very existence is a matter of deep embarrassment.

A stocky swarthy-skinned man, presumably a foreman, in a shiny hard hat, noticed Rachael watching, and beckoned to her with a sly smile, but how could she have obeyed him even if she'd wished to, the six-foot chain-link fence in her way?