On it were three words scribbled in red ink: "Mental . . . Defense . . . Patience."

Thanks to the words scribbled in the memo's margin, the District of Columbia was suspicious.

There, by the light of the lamp, he read the few words scribbled in pencil: "Wait in the street outside."

The story reminded me of words scribbled in pencil on the bathroom wall at a college I visited recently: "Party or else!"

The scrap of paper bore a dozen words scribbled in a shaky hand.

There was only one word on it, scribbled in an almost illegible handwriting.

Polly touched the little relic, treasured for a year, and smiled to read the words "My Polly's rose," scribbled under the crumbling leaves.

Those words, scribbled in the margin of a textbook, sent a chill of fear up Alta Kavanaugh's spine three years ago.

They seemed to be notes for a lecture; every other word contested, scribbled and rewritten, portions of the text so densely annotated it was virtually indecipherable.

It consisted of only three words, apparently scribbled in a great hurry: "Die in silence."