Word: flickerings
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...overtook the nation's youngest metropolitan daily, the Arizona Journal. Scant weeks short of its first birthday, the Journal found itself out of print, out of money, heavily in debt, and laid out for burial. About all that kept the infant paper out of the grave was a flicker of outside interest...
What passions flicker beneath Georgie's grey flannel mortarboard? As the reader meets him, he is preparing to go horseback riding. A shrewd old groom suggests a placid bay, but Georgie rejects his advice and takes a balky black gelding. Of course he is thrown. No student of women's-magazine prose can fail to understand the symbolic significance of this, and it has nothing to do with horseback riding. The groom (servants are as clever as presidential speechwriters in this sort of fiction) is Fate, and Georgie's pettish assertion of masculinity means that...
...speaks her husband's name: "Albert Langlois." No reaction. She recalls her husband's record in the Resistance, the prisons he was held in. Still no reaction. She confronts the tramp with her husband's aunt. Not a flicker of recognition. She feeds him the dishes her husband loved. He cannot remember them. In agony she cries out: "Why do you refuse your past! Why do you refuse your life!" Then she sees the awful scar on the back of his head...
...such names had no faces to most of the U.S. But in last week's elections, the nobodies became the somebodies who helped the Democratic Party score major breakthroughs across New England. Some won only by a flicker-and even then the results might be changed by recounts. In most instances, an argument could be made that local situations outweighed national or even regional trends. But the fact remained that New England's voting was a cause for Democratic rejoicing and G.O.P. gloom...
...performance is genuine. But it is also calculated to enrage the Republican candidate, to shatter the armored suit of imperturbability that has frustrated Dilworth as few things have before. In open debate, U.S. Representative William Scranton permits a thin smile to flicker across his face while his opponent heaps on abuse. Then he rises to reply-and that reply, despite its cool, deliberate cadence is whiplash in its bitterness against Dilworth. "We have got graft and corruption." he charges. "We have got it in Philadelphia, and we know what has not been done about it ... He cries in front...