Word: neat
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...deserved credit not only for an original fancy but for making his fable's dilemma both wonder-struck and plausible in the telling. By ingenious design, his exchanges between Mr. White and Mr. Black abounded in ambiguously open-ended clues to their real identity. He also managed a neat solution: a staring match between the contenders, proposed by the ornery town skeptic to keep the town from stampeding in favor of Mr. White. Isolated in a drawn circle, the two stared and glared away for days, without flinching or even growing a whisker. When Mr. White seemed to falter...
...brilliant white flash lit the horizon, and the pencil-shaped Atlas slowly, silently lifted into the air, gaining speed, her exhausts pushing down neat twin yellow-white flames. Then, almost 8,000 ft. up, one flame trail lengthened, turned orange, mingled with ominous black smoke. The missile lurched to one side, straightened out, began to drop away, spewing metal shards. The trouble: one engine had lost power, thrown the Bird out of kilter, made the missile a safety hazard. On Cape Canaveral test officers quickly reacted, exploded Atlas by remote control. The missile crashed with a thud into the surf...
More active than ever at 75,-Composer Igor Feodorovich Stravinsky works in intermittent bursts of energy in a soundproofed studio built into his Hollywood house. A neat and meticulous man, Stravinsky until recently liked to stand on his head and do morning calisthenics to keep in trim. With the aid of his second wife Vera, he watches his health with hypochondriacal care. After a glass of French wine he is likely to call, "Quick, Verochka, the proteins." His wife responds by bringing him crackers and cheese. Although he is deeply religious, Stravinsky seldom goes to the Russian Orthodox Church, once...
...neat the way Dwight David laughed brother Edgar out of the way [TIME, April 29]. It would be even neater if he could likewise dispose of Edgar's criticisms...
...only have put together poetical monstrosities if he had not refused to fit the turbulent, phantasmagorical sensations he took in, to the regulated, steady, time-proven forms he was used to. It is perhaps an easy task to fit a love lyric or an ingenuous little casida into the neat octosyllabic line, but that line would prove a Procrustes' bed to a poem titled Landscape of the Urinating Multitudes or the description of a Harlem Saturday night...