Word: afterglow
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...post-Insull afterglow of U. S. high-financeering, No. 1 utility scandal was tubby Howard C. Hopson's rancid Associated Gas & Electric. Today Hopson is self-allegedly feebleminded; his goons are dead, broke and scattered; his insolvent empire has become the largest reorganization in the history of U. S. business (TIME, March 4). A. G. & E. is simultaneously a ward of the Federal courts, a debtor of the U. S. Treasury (for at least $5,000,000 of unpaid taxes), and a regulatee of SEC, which Hopson's 1935 utility lobby tried to keep out of the utility...
Arranged three months ago in the rosy afterglow of the Munich Deal, the trip was not expected to amount to much more than the formalizing of a standoff. This prospect was underscored when, much to II Duce's disappointment, the British stopped "for tea" with Premier Edouard Daladier and Foreign Minister Georges Bonnet in Paris. There they were informed once again that France will not countenance Mr. Chamberlain as a "mediator" to settle Italian-French troubles...
Later, when the full glory of the period of normalcy, our Augustan age, had passed, a picturesque afterglow remained. Around every corner was a breadline, now replaced, in the name of progress, with the far less romantic E.R.A. bureau. In corresponding proximity was the return of prosperity, in the phrases of a prominent and cherubic public figure of the day. All this, of course, is merely an old wives' tale to most, but for a few the ghosts who have reawakened memories of glory are living figures, of dignity as well as of pathos...
...light of a candle with a glow almost not of this earth, giving a hint of powers unknown to the average mortal. Its taste is, to be sure, that of liquid fire; but it does not have burn of straight alcohol; there is an aroma, a purging afterglow, and a solid, settled feeling which delves down to the soles of one's feet, which lets it be known that this is the drink of rugged individualism. There is something of the mountains of its birth in this Leadville Moon; those mountains are heavy, yet aspiring; they fall away in rugged...
...distil it and call it applejack, but the farmers of New Hampshire keep it in a 50-gallon keg and call it cider. It does not burn like Rhum, it does not bite like Gin, it does not scrape like Scotch. It softens the rough edges, it burnishes the afterglow, and it catches a wind tossed echo of the music of the spheres. And above all it flows from a pitcher the mate to which Hawthorne has called miraculous...