Word: palmed
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...collection on sale belonged to Mr. and Mrs. Adolphe Juviler of New York and Palm Beach, who explained that they wanted to be freer to travel. Their treasures were a choice, if uneven, selection of modern paintings, sculpture and drawings, and it had both Parke-Bernet's main gallery (white tickets) and TV annex (pink tickets) jammed to overflowing. The bidding was brisk: a curt nod, a quick wave of a pencil, an almost imperceptible gesture with a finger-the secret semaphore of auctioneering-would send the bidding up anywhere from $100 to $5,000. When the auctioneer...
Tanga, like all Africa, exhibits the contrasts of a land alive with tension between the future and the present. A magnificent road peters out into two muddy ruts; bright new fire engines race over dirt tracks to put out a fire in a village of mud and palm-thatch houses; a group of white-shirted intellectuals talking on a street corner at night are badgered for a cigarette by a man dressed up for an evening stroll in a top hat, blue-striped pajama bottoms, and a pair of torn, cutaway tails that he has found somewhere...
...homes of the opulent are still there, tourism and riotous jazz festivals have distorted the old style and spirit. Yet, among the get-away-from-it-all homes that Jackie and Jack Kennedy have used since he became President (Virginia's Glen Ora. Papa Joe Kennedy's Palm Beach mansion, and the Hyannisport complex), Newport has special meaning. It was on the green-lawned, Angus-stocked, 97-acre Hammersmith Farm, owned by her stepfather and mother, Hugh and Janet Auchincloss, that Jackie spent her youthful summers. It was in the rambling, red-roofed Auchincloss manor that she made...
...lying in the mud." The pool-shooting scenes are magnificently staged -the principals were coached by Willie Mosconi, top-ranking pool player in the U.S.-and tellingly edited by Director Robert Rossen (They Came to Cordura). The suspense in the first big game will surely bring sweat to any palm that has ever touched a cuestick. Then, too, Newman is better than usual; Gleason, as the slit-mouthed, beady-eyed Minnesota Fats, darts among the shabby little pool sharks like an improbably agile and natty whale; and Gambler Scott looks as though he could sell hot-air heat...
...toward the past, is only a great quest of the future on my part; perhaps it is only that last view of the world in which I merely need to burst my everyday clothes, the clothes of all my days. And perhaps that is why, as I progress from Palm Sunday toward Easter, one word is heard more and more often in my prose-a distant sound at first, like a striking of the ground transmitted by the earth, barely audible, a word ceaselessly repeated, which beats like an insistent drum, now muffled, now unmuffled-the future...