Word: emotionlessness
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...stage of Carnegie Hall tripped demure, blonde Ellen Berg,11. In a soprano that was emotionless, usually hall-size, usually on pitch, she sang an air from Mozart's Magic Flute. Sophisticated kids and mammas gave each other sidelong looks when Conductor Rudolph Ganz announced that Ellen Berg would next sing the Mad Scene from Lucia di Lammermoor. On that glassy surface, double-runners are not allowed. Coloratura Berg sailed out cleanly, figure-eighted through her trills, skidded a couple of times into her flute accompanist, ducked low to coast into her final note an octave below the conventional...
...seventh. Señorita de Alvarez led by one game and fairly scintillated pleasure. Throughout she had shown the full gamut of emotion whenever a point went for or against her. Europeans in the gallery warmed to approval of her frank spontaneity. Anglo-Saxons beamed pridefully upon the correct, emotionless, orthodox sportswomanship of Miss Wills...
...contemplate worse than that with equanimity. The futility of mechanical "art," for example. Even the suicide of Giorgio Mirelli, a boy-genius whom he has tutored, does not greatly perturb him. Nor even the strange daemon of the beautiful woman who caused the boy's suicide. Emotionless? Oh, no. But he has taught himself to control his emotions so that he can serve the spider and yet preserve something more important than emotions: his soul, if you like...
...cranks his camera, inside the cage with Nuti. Aldo Nuti aims carefully and shoots, not the tiger, but the Nestoroff. The tiger tears him apart. Gubbio cranks on until someone fires pointblank through the bars into the tiger's ear. He thereby achieves perfection as a cinematograph operator. Emotionless? Oh, no. His suppressed terror strikes him dumb forever after. But except when he thinks of the fierce, innocent tiger's death, he has peace...
...White House, ate a hearty breakfast. Then in his office in an easy chair in front of the tall south windows he read newspapers and election telegrams, placidly. Messengers came in with more despatches; he picked them up mechanically, smoking slowly. The expression on his face was as emotionless as that of a man thoughtfully perusing the telephone directory. Then William Randolph Hearst came in for luncheon, suggested that the President go to California for his vacation next year...