Word: caking
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...After the interview I couldn't wait to get out of town. I returned to my hotel and, inasmuch as it was my birthday, ate some birthday cake. The (next morning, with my three colleagues, I boarded the Buenos Aires plane and sat there, feeling most uncomfortable, with a big, fat manila envelope full of opposition documents among my possessions. Neither the police nor the customs officials molested me, however, and when the big seaplane took off from the Parana river it was too late for anyone to do anything about...
Flight from the Heathen. Old Zvi, her father, would not live in the land Ana rules. Two years ago Zvi came to Ana asking her help for a group of Rumanian Jews. She received him amiably on a Saturday afternoon. Coffee and cake was brought in. Old Zvi exploded: "How dare you offer me hot coffee on a Sabbath! Have you gone mad?" Ana, trying to calm her father, led him to the kitchen and showed him the electric percolator. She explained that, since no one needed to strike a match, no religious law was being violated, but he called...
Grandma Moses (TIME, Sept. 6), chipper as ever on her 88th birthday, cut a cake decorated with scenes inspired by Grandma Moses' paintings. With a helping hand from Admirer Norman Rockwell, who also paints, after his fashion, she struck a pose that even her most critical dealer would accept as an authentic American primitive...
Christina Stead's prose is as hard and cold as a cake of ice. A sharp-eyed Australian now living in the U.S., Miss Stead specializes, with the murderous calm of a hangman slightly bored by his job, in dissecting egotists and connivers. One of her better novels, House of All Nations, was a long, superbly documented description of the world of high finance, which viciously satirized the European big money and led some critics to compare her, rather prematurely, to Balzac...
Social Security. Under the weeping willow trees outside, Hoover sat down with state functionaries to an Iowa lunch of fried chicken, corn on the cob and a huge birthday cake, while spectators gawked from beyond the low fence. He visited the old Quaker cemetery, where some dozen Hoovers are buried under the red cedars, and for a long moment stood with his head bowed before the grave of his father and mother. On a platform looking out over sun-splashed fields of the finest corn in lowans' memory, Hoover spoke. He recalled leaving West Branch...