Word: crept
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...Great Depression crept slowly westward during the fall of 1930, but great men were speaking of an upturn, and optimism still gripped the public mind. Black Thursday was a year old, Europe seemed to be heading for hell, and Carl Joachim Friedrich, then an assistant professor of Government, stated "There is no probability at all of the establishment of a dictatorship in Germany...
...hour hand of the clock high on the wall of the National Assembly crept past 3, the hour of final reckoning arrived for the Fourth Republic. In hushed silence the Deputies watched General Charles de Gaulle in a single-breasted grey suit stride to the podium, heard him proclaim in less than seven minutes the terms on which he had accepted the summons to power...
...belly, two pairs of giant hands around my thighs and calves, to retard the flow of blood to the feet and reduce the risk of blackout. Belatedly I remembered to try the "M1 maneuver"-tensing the abdominal muscles to reduce the blood drainage still more. The g-meter needle crept up past 2 to 3 and on to 4. My normal 145 lbs. now weighed 580: I felt compressed, depressed. Even the light rubber ball of the pneumatic release for my camera shutter, held in my hand, seemed unbearably heavy. With the eyeballs tugged downward, with eyelids feeling like rusty...
Staying Alive. All last week jet bombers from the British, Australian and New Zealand air forces worked over a 1,600-mile tract of jungle in Perak. On the ground, patrols crept toward the shattered target areas, cutting their way through underbrush as high as a man's head. British artillery plastered one sector near Sungei Siput with 25-pounders. An Australian battery poured mortar fire into another area, while only 400 yds. away a platoon of weary New Zealanders sweated out their 15th day of waiting for the enemy to show himself. For 33,000 Malayan and other...
...book's leading characters are, on the face of it, five heroes and one coward. Major Thomas Thorn-stocky, undistinguished, middle-aged-is the coward. Dur ing his first skirmish, he had crept trembling into a culvert. Partly in deference to his dead father, a crop-thwacking cavalryman, Thorn was not court-martialed. Instead, with thickly sabered irony, he was exiled from his outfit to become a writer of awards for the Medal of Honor. Without cynicism, Commanding General John J. Pershing (in an imaginary conversation) explained to Thorn the pressing need for medal winners: with U.S. entanglement...