Word: landau
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Still, the Queen did not quit on her colt. Like an anxious modern mother, she turned to psychiatry for help. There were experts in the Laurel grandstand who believed that Landau had been cured of his inferiority complex and was ready...
...sleek, black colt looked like a winner. Highbred and proud, Landau moved out of the paddock under the royal purple, gold and scarlet silks of his owner, Queen Elizabeth II. But his reputation had preceded him to the U.S. Every horseplayer who had come to Laurel, Md. for the third running of the Washington, D.C. International knew the skittish three-year-old as a notorious equine neurotic. Balky as a kid who always refuses to perform for company, he had an exasperating habit of quitting in a close stretch drive...
Techniques for Twitches. Before Landau was flown to the U.S., a blue-eyed pixy named Charles Brook-with a beard remarkably resembling Sigmund Freud's -commuted for weeks between his Har ley Street office and the royal stables outside Newmarket. A psychotherapist who began his professional career as a corporation lawyer, Brook would stride past the sneering unbelievers of shed row with magnificent aplomb and go directly to Landau's stall. There, standing close to his patient's side, he would place his left hand on the colt's withers, his right hand on the smooth...
...very best editorials, I feel, I have seen in the CRIMSON in the past several years. I think it's rare, in an area where usually only emotions prevail, to find such an understanding of issues, a reasoned approach, and so quiet and lucid an analysis. Henry Landau '54 1G (PBHA President...
Next day the Britons gawked at a lavish agricultural exhibit, where Bevan peered dourly at the gilt-and-gingerbread buildings, commenting: "Pure Victorian. All show. This is the Victorian age of Russia. An immense show of wealth, concealing poverty. The landau at the door, the servants in the attic." At lunch there were long silences between toasts, broken at last by Attlee, who abruptly asked: "How do you get your milk in Moscow?" The Russians told them, in a laborious hum of translation, broken by the clear, social-worker voice of Dr. Edith: "I'm not interested in yield...