Word: peaching
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...above any turbulence, descending only in spots to 6,000 ft. for a closer look at the scenery. All the while, the cabin crew kept the sightseers plied with plentiful food and drink. Lunch offered a choice of Tournedos Rossini or Chicken Sauvaroff, plus a special meringue dessert named Peach Erebus. That dish was to be served as the aircraft passed one of the most spectacular sights of the trip: 12,400-ft. Mount Erebus, the polar region's largest volcano, located on Ross Island off the Antarctic coast. (Erebus in Greek mythology was the son of Chaos...
...Prix de Litterature Policiere. But critics and scholars have lots of time to catch up. MacDonald's mind still brims with mayhem for McGee. And there are lots of colors to go. "Let's see," says John D., sitting down to work. "There's ocher, ultramarine, peach, beige, cherry, white . . . and black...
...house upon it." Such was British Foreign Secretary Lord Palmerston's contemptuous description of Hong Kong before it was ceded to the British by a weak Chinese regime at the close of the Opium War in 1842. As a fruit of war, it was not considered a peach. But over the past 137 years, the once blighted island has developed into a bustling seaport colony that boasts a thriving economy. Though Britain's lease on 90% of the 400-sq.-mi. area expires in only 18 years, residents expect a glowing future of political stability and more prosperity...
...only are the hours long, but the work is almost always monotonous hand labor; and many times this summer I felt I had been transported back in time several centuries. We spent most of the time picking fruit: peaches, pears, and cherries. Each day, every day, we slowly wound our way among the trees, picking the fruits as quickly as we could, as time ticked by ever so slowly. The Vallets had only 30 acres, less than one-tenth the size of the average American farm, and so every last fruit had to be picked, and not a peach could...
Work was the same for everybody else in the little village, Moras En Valloire. Next to our peach orchard was a small tobacco field, where a father and son worked each day from early morning until late at night. From where we picked peaches we could see them, bent over like tumbled-down scarecrows, pulling the weeds out by hand as they slowly moved up and down the rows...