Word: nosed
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...down from Camp David saying he would try to do better. He is supposed to have been doing his best for the past 15 months. Anything better will be the end of us. He pushes bills at Congress like a used car salesman shoving the finance papers under your nose. Just sign please. Don't bother to read the fine print...
...petitioners filed in, Fahd stood to receive them. One by one, they greeted him, kissing him on the forehead, on the nose, or the shoulder. They handed their written petitions to an aide standing beside the Prince; these would be considered later and directed to the appropriate government agency for action. Then the visitors took their seats around the walls. A royal aide wearing a curved sword served bitter cardamom-flavored coffee, while another sword-bearing retainer followed to collect the tiny, round-bottomed cups...
...induce "voluntary" restraint are worthwhile. Says Robert Nathan, a Washington economic consultant: "The most important thing in holding down inflation is to get business and labor's cooperation on prices and wages." Everybody agrees that winning labor support is remote, especially after George Meany last week thumbed his nose at Carter's importuning for restraint. Arthur Okun, a senior fellow at the Brookings Institution, notes that the rate of wage increases has jumped more than a full point in a year, to 8.3%. He contends that the Administration must set an example-such as holding firm on wage...
...scorching sun roasts the skeletons of jacaranda trees. The soil, dry and hard, looks like baked clay. Rivers, once navigated by 5,000-ton ships, are now so choked by sand bars that a canoe can barely nose through. Bridges cross dry gulches overgrown with weeds and shrubs. Many once plentiful plants and birds are gone, and human beings who live there are disfigured by skin cancer. The scene is 300 sq. mi. in the Brazilian state of Espirito Santo, a once lush strip north of Rio de Janeiro that is now on its way to becoming a desert...
...almost eight o'clock and the last of the frisbee throwers and tired secretaries had left the Yard. Anchored by one hand under John Harvard's nose and both ankles tucked behind his cold shoulders, I looked out across the lawn. From the far end of the small colony of new tents, down sleeping bags and gas stoves, a lone voice lilted to one tired guitar, singing, "Tenting Tonight." Eastern Mountain Sports must be celebrating tonight, I thought. I read somewhere that wherever, and whenever, a strong wave of student activism surges forth, camping stores crop up like picnic ants...