Word: ink
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Vague Exceptions. The best measure of the West's advance was the way the Communists struck back before the ink was dry on the London agreement. Cunningly, the Kremlin sent Vyacheslav Molotov to Berlin with a newly tailored model of the old maneuver for Big Four talks on Germany. This time, said Molotov, Russia would be willing to discuss-though not necessarily to agree to-"free all-German elections." This held out to the Germans hope of unity, which all ardently desire, while offering the French a fresh excuse to delay still longer their agonizing decision over Germany...
...despite apparent successes, black-ink--unless it is on the music--is not widely used in the office below the Varsity Club. This year's Princeton trip costs, for example, will depend on the success of the annual Dartmouth concert. In spite of such horn-to-mouth finances, however, the band as missed only two varsity games since its organization, one trip to Cornell and the trip to Stanford...
...full-dress crowd drifted in from gondolas. On hand in person to conduct the world premiere, wearing a white suit and red tie, was Composer Britten, 40. On a stark stage, British Tenor Peter Pears sang the prologue ("It is a curious story. I have it written in faded ink . . ."). From then on. the plot followed the outlines of the Henry James chiller about a young governess in an English country house who attempts to protect her young charges from the evil doings of a pair of phantoms. The opera's 16 scenes flashed quickly across the stage., building...
...circulation area, you're crazy." In a drafty Hempstead garage she set up shop, using an old press and six Linotype machines bought for $50,000 from a defunct daily. As her first issue of 15,000 papers rolled off the press, a staffer came up to his ink-smeared boss and said that the paper looked "pretty good." With a dissatisfaction that has always driven her to do better, Publisher Patterson answered: "I'm afraid it looks like hell...
...horses, dogs, kangaroos and duck-billed platypuses. When death, as it must to all little mags, came to London's highbrow monthly Horizon in December 1949, the magazine had beaten the actuarial tables and reached the advanced old age of ten years. Since there was always more red ink than red blood in its circulation (peak figure: 10,-ooo), Horizon owed much of its vitality to two men: 1) Angel Peter Watson, the millionaire son of a milkman, who blotted up some $20,000 in losses; and 2) Editor Cyril Connolly, the intellectual son of an army officer, whose...