Word: homewards
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...Moscow's Pushkin Square was thronged with workers heading homeward for their evening borsch. Suddenly two pacifists, an American girl and an Englishman, appeared and began handing out leaflets in Russian urging the startled recipients to take "any peaceful action in your power" to bring about the withdrawal of Soviet and other Warsaw Pact troops from Czechoslovakia...
...Last year Minh tried another route-by filing as a presidential candidate-only to have his application rejected by a military government that was well aware of his excellent chances of winning. Last week, after nearly four years in exile, the hero of the 1963 coup at last seemed homeward bound...
...been a lilting summer day throughout Eastern Europe. In the cool of a starry evening in the Czechoslovak capital of Prague, vast Wenceslas Square was alive with couples strolling arm in arm, tourists and Czechoslovaks bustling homeward. Then, just before midnight, telephones began to jangle as friends and relatives living in border towns frantically put in calls to the capital. The alert was spread by taxi drivers and owners of private cars, who raced through the medieval streets with their horns wailing warning. Soon the roar of jet engines reverberated through the night skies; Russian planes were flying ominously...
Over the Rockies. Subs like Scorpion cruise submerged at speeds of up to 35 knots and can operate at depths down to 1,000 ft. There are "sea-mounts"-underwater slopes-charted along her great-circle route homeward that lie only 900 ft. below the surface. Retired Navy Captain Charles N. G. Hendrix, an old "pigboat" skipper who is now a professor of oceanography at the U.S. Naval Academy, likens such subsurface navigation to the plight of "a pilot flying over the Rocky Mountains without knowing how high the highest peaks are, where they are, or even if they exist...
Swinger & Bum. After the Updikes moved to Ipswich in 1957, John found himself more than ever in thrall to his homeward-looking vision. So many short stories flowed from his reservoir of nostalgia that he collected eleven of the best in a volume called Olinger Stories-Olinger being "audibly a shadow of Shillington," Updike wrote, and yet something other. "The surrounding land is loamy, and Olinger is haunted-hexed, perhaps-by rural memories, accents and superstitions. It is beyond the western edge of Megalopolis, and hangs between its shallow hills enchanted, nowhere, anywhere; there is no place like it. Olinger...