Word: dewlaps
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...spray ammunition at a beast until he struck a haunch or horn or dewlap. And then he'd wear the poor thing down. The godfather of American conservation and founder of the national parks was capable of gleeful sacrilege and atrocity when he got the scent. In "The Wilderness Hunter," Roosevelt records this moment: "On the way an eagle came soaring over head, and I shot at it twice without success. Having once killed an eagle on the wing with a rifle, I always have a lurking hope that sometime I may be able to repeat the feat. I revenged...
Fire burst from its open mouth, its eyes glowed with a smouldering glare, its muzzle and hackles and dewlap were outlined in flickering flame. Never in the delirious dream of a disordered brain could anything more savage, more appalling, more hellish, be conceived than that dark form and savage face...
...actress named Barbara Darling, who invites him into her bed and tries, unsuccessfully, to teach him a few rudimentary sexual tricks. Nevertheless, he spends a long, happy weekend with Barbara before losing her to a "doggish window dresser with a great hanging face, pouches, pendulous lip, bum, turn, dewlap...
...well-steeped in the classical tradition of sculpture that ennobles the sitter's profile, Houdon was incapable of flattery. He did not spare the pockmarks on the face of French Revolutionary Mirabeau, or embellish the vapid looks of the young Lafayette, or face-lift the homely dewlap of Ben Franklin. The result is that the popular likenesses today of some of the greatest men of the revolutionary periods in France and America started with the passionately accurate chisel of Houdon. Now on view at Massachusetts' Worcester Art Museum is the U.S.'s first comprehensive look, through...
...familiar mushroom cloud of dust rises high in the air and results in heavy fallout many feet from the point of origin.) After a long hard look in the mirror, it seemed obvious at first that I had it. What else could account for the receding hairline, the dewlap under the chin, and all those creases in the old epidermis? Yes, that was it, the secret decay, but still was it not a sort of hallmark of noble craft? . . . How about printing a picture of Louis...