Word: barking
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...boldest single weather-control project, Project Stormfury, the Navy is now trying to prove that hurricanes can be steered or wiped out by seeding their centers with silver-iodide crystals. Russian antiaircraft cannons regularly bark over the mountains of Georgia and the hail-blasted steppes of Siberia, pumping tons of silver iodide into the sky at intervals of ten to 15 minutes until storms subside. In France, Meteorologist Henri Dessens has created le Météotron, a superstove that covers 3,200 square meters and has 100 burners that can generate 700,000 kilowatts of power to send...
...only worry is over the day the boss might bark: "You're fired! Turn in your clothes!" Fidelity has thought of that. An employee who stays on for a year can keep his uniform on leaving. Except for the crest. The code says that the crest must be surrendered. But it won't be easy, turning in that good old golden...
...turned out, the Bulldog's bark was a good deal worse than his bite. At an even 4 miles, the Harvard-Yale crew race is the longest in the U.S.-more than three times as long as the Eastern Sprints. Yale's strategy, explained Hathaway, was to "stick with them in the first mile and pressure them afterward." Yale could have used more mucilage. At the end of a mile, the Bulldogs trailed by half a length; after two miles, Harvard's margin was up to three boat lengths. Rowing mostly at a steady 33 strokes...
...narrative pace is numbing, its style is deafening, its language penny dreadful. All the characters whirl like dervishes, especially Dirk Struan, a kind of Scottish superman who can borrow $5,000,000 in silver ingots from an Oriental tycoon, invent binoculars, and corner the world supply of cinchona bark, all without breathing very hard. Well, almost. His Scots accent wavers a bit under stress: "Damned if he'll get away with it, Will! He'll no get awa' with...
...Green Lagoon, is hyperbole. A ragged hamlet located about 15 miles from the Haitian border, it is the home of 500-odd campesinos who scratch out a living by growing maize and rice in sun-baked clay that scarcely tolerates thorny scrub and cactus. Inside the Marichal bohio (palm-bark walls, thatched roof, oddments of homemade furniture), a nine-year-old boy sprawls shirtless on the concrete floor, unraveling the thread from an old silk stocking. With infinite care, he winds the thread round and round a scrap of rubber until he has a ball about 9 in. in circumference...