Word: feverently
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...side of his right ankle, but thought nothing of it. Feeling fit on Monday, Sakacs, a retired Navy chief petty officer, put in a full day's work as a mechanic on a water research project at the Port Hueneme naval base. That night he had chills and fever and diarrhea, so he took the following day off and went to see an osteopath. He got a shot of penicillin, quinine for a suspected recurrence of malaria, and aspirin for the aches and pains−which were worst in his right groin. There was a slight lump there...
Lieut. Commander Lay M. Fox, 31, an internist from Baltimore, got the same story of chills and fever, noted a pustule on the right ankle. In Sakacs' right groin he found two groups of enlarged lymph nodes, each about one inch by two inches. Like 99.9% of U.S. physicians, young Dr. Fox had never seen a case like it. But on the strength of the fleabite and the buboes, he made a quick diagnosis: bubonic plague...
Unofficially invited to London last fortnight to feel out the atmosphere, Nikos Kranidiotis, secretary of the Ethnarchy Council (the governing body of the Orthodox Church of Cyprus) and right-hand man of Makarios, said: "There may be a better chance here than in the fever of Cyprus." The British, he felt, might now be ready to agree to a Greek majority among elected members of the legislature. In return, the Archbishop would probably compromise on the width and tenure of the security measures to be had by the British, might come to terms over the release of prisoners, and might...
...financial trends for the German banking house of Fugger. The art of business prediction has come a long way from its starry-eyed origins. But economists admit readily that their prognostications are still largely a matter of educated guesswork. And in the current uncertainty over the economic outlook, guesstimating fever has reached epidemic pitch. Says one topflight Washington economist: "We work by the seat of our pants more often than we like to admit...
Unnerved by the river people's fatalistic fortitude and inexplicable joys, the American takes to his bunk with a psychosomatic sort of fever. There, Su-ling, almond-eyed wife of the junk owner, feeds him broths plus the harsh poetic lore of the "Ten-Thousand Mile River." Once well, the engineer excitedly spills hints of his company's plan to harness the river, tame its power, eliminate the backbreaking tasks of the trackers. Su-ling is horrified at the American's impiety in even thinking of tampering with the sacred Great River, and begs him to breathe...