Word: gusts
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...gust of cold air, the door slams, locks, and back out again in the twelve-degree biting night wind...
...chorus, a thunderous "Amen!" from the stamp of heavy shoes and the clap of hairless hands. Youth spilled out last Friday night like so much combustible gas, gathered as a gust and bright balloon, rose, burst with a desultory bang, and was gone. Leaving only the silence of the morning after...
Bittersweet Memories. If Mick Micheyl is a Parisian spring breeze, Juliette Greco is a gust from a dark grotto. In Manhattan last week, with her weedy dark hair hanging to her waist, she chanted in French the bittersweet songs that have made her famous at home. Her large, square hands shaped the phrases; her high-cheekbonsd, chalky face was alternately sullen and sad. In her best song, I Hate Sundays ("Every day of the week is empty and hollow, but there's worse than the weekday, there's pretentious Sunday"), her voice faded to an organ whisper. Even...
...great-circle route to Los Angeles. There were eight people aboard the big bomber, but after take-off no one worked the controls. For two hours, a pilot sat watching the instruments. Then he got bored and let the plane fly itself. It did, making minor corrections for each gust of air. It rose to 21,000 ft. to traverse the Rockies, stayed on course through a 100-m.p.h. wind shift over Nevada. Finally, 13 hours and 2,520 miles from Bedford, the pilot took over, took the aircraft the remaining ten miles to Los Angeles International Airport...
Next day the air force tried again with another helicopter-a big Sikorsky 58 with two pilots and two guides aboard. A great gust of snow temporarily blinded the man at the controls as he attempted a landing. The big machine lurched and crashed to earth, its rotors crumbled. The guides leaped out to find Vincendon and Henry in the snow more dead than alive, their legs frozen, their faces black with frostbite. "I'm going to die," murmured Vincendon...