Word: magnums
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...with the men of the Crimson. Scot Levitt,who rose high in the hierarchy of Life. Tony Lewisof the Times, Church Bailey, newspaperman, author,newly named to the board of the Neiman Fellows.Burt Glinn, the sprightly soul who became a Lifeand Magnum photographer. Dozens of other who wenton to every field of publishing and some who brokecompletely to enter law and medicine and politics.And every one a nice...
...this time, Solomon had backed out the door he had entered. His rifle abandoned, he was kneeling on the ground. He pulled out another gun, a powerful .357 magnum revolver, and put the barrel in his mouth. "It's going to be all right," a voice said. "Put it down." Something about the voice must have calmed the boy. He took the gun from his mouth. The voice belonged to assistant principal Cecil Brinkley, into whose arms T.J. then collapsed, shaking. "Oh, my God, I'm so scared," T.J. said...
...There's no reason, in my opinion, to have [guns]," O'Donnell stated, pouncing on Selleck, the former Magnum PI star, who recently appeared in an ad for the National Rifle Association. "You can't say, 'I will not take responsibility for anything the N.R.A. represents' if you're doing an ad," O'Donnell lectured. "I think you're being stupid," a slumped and sullen Selleck replied at one point. "You're questioning my humanity...
...upon us. The annual process of Making Sure the Lawn Looks Perfect for Commencement-- a process which, for many of us, is dialectically invested with both anticipation and dread--is once again underway. The squadron of landscape-artists has been unleashed; like Stravinsky, they aspire to create a magnum opus of the season's rituals. With ardor, with bags of dirt, they have already begun to transform the Yard from a relatively pleasant, serene meadow into a confusion of cordons, chemical grass simulacra and bare patches of earth hideous to behold. Harvard subsists on tradition: the Yard is made repellent...
...upon us. The annual process of Making Sure the Lawn Looks Perfect for Commencement-- a process which, for many of us, is dialectically invested with both anticipation and dread--is once again underway. The squadron of landscape-artists has been unleashed; like Stravinsky, they aspire to create a magnum opus of the season's rituals. With ardor, with bags of dirt, they have already begun to transform the Yard from a relatively pleasant, serene meadow into a confusion of cordons, chemical grass simulacra and bare patches of earth hideous to behold. Harvard subsists on tradition: the Yard is made repellent...