Word: paled
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There were compensating rewards. The Express, a pale failure when Beaverbrook bought it, grew under his kinetic stewardship into a popular giant of 4,300,000 circulation; its pages provided all Fleet Street with daily lessons in the craft of journalism. When World War II began, Britain's Finest Hour was also his; as Churchill's Minister of Aircraft Production, he put up the cloud of Spitfires that saved the day. These and other accomplishments invested him with the quality of living legend. "Positive, bee," wrote a columnist in a Canadian paper, "comparative, Beaver; superlative, Beaverbrook." Sir Beverley...
There was a strangely routine air about the rocket test. No exasperating, last-minute delays, no long, apprehensive countdowns - someone simply pressed a button and a dagger of pale yellow flame spewed skyward. White smoke climbed above the dry hills, and an enormous roar echoed along the California-Mexico border. After exactly 109 seconds, as scheduled, silence came back to the test stand...
While Zeckendorf reeled and dealed to cover his debt, the revenues he had expected to rescue him failed to materialize. Freedomland, a pale Bronx imitation of Disneyland, lost $5.4 million. Place Ville Marie, a skyscraper show place in Montreal, lost another $4.5 million, and Webb & Knapp (Canada) no longer controls it. New York's Roosevelt Field, a large shopping center and industrial park, lost $1.2 million. Zeckendorf also took a $4.5 million bath in his Manhattan hotels...
...times, Hubley handsomely transforms these ideas into images. His colors are pale and wash across the screen like slow surf in the moonlight; yet here and there in the watery depths, a point of richer color burns for an instant like a brilliant fish. Early in the film he engineers a spectacular ballet of electrons; later he pictures a cluster of great galaxies that lie asleep in space like a nest of glimmering, immeasurable crabs...
...Santa Claus of loneliness" was W. H. Auden's tag for his fellow poet, Rainer Maria Rilke. Rilke did not look like Santa Claus-more like the man who shot him. Beneath a nobly domed forehead, pale eyes glared out from a meanly featured face. This repellent countenance would on rare occasions be relieved by an unpleasant smile. Yet for all his unprepossessing appearance, he had the pride of Lucifer himself. He insisted on his aristocratic descent...