Word: pod
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Troxell shows Matt his secret-a pressurized "pod" cockpit for jet planes which can be shot upward to land by parachute and save distressed pilots. While Matt is making himself a cool $25,000 piloting a jet from Nome over the Pole to Washington, Troxell dies when the "pod" fails in a premature test. Miss Parker accuses Matt of responsibility for this accident, warning that Troxell's ghost would come between them if they contemplated a life together. The nest day, Matt lands safely in the "pod" as his flaming plane crashes. Miss Parker rushes to him, and damn...
Painter Georges Braque cast a narrowly appraising eye at five still-lifes on the wall of a Paris gallery last week. The colors and surface textures of all five pictures were as alike as peas in a pod; the only apparent thing that distinguished the four reproductions from Braque's original was the trademark "Aeply" in their margins. Braque passed a blunt forefinger over one of the pictures. "This is amazing," he said. "These pictures are more than mere reproductions; they are reconstitutions of the original." Added Braque: "But the artist must still produce an original work before these...
Inventor Land's speedup process takes all the steps at the same time. An ordinary commercial film with an opaque back is exposed in the usual way. The photographer pulls it out of the camera along with a sheet of special paper. Attached to the paper is a "pod" (containing a viscous chemical mixture) which is broken when it passes two small rollers. The chemicals are spread evenly between film and paper, sticking them closely together (see diagram...
...longhand-served its high purpose for 15 years: "to goad public opinion into being more vigilant and hospitable." When Editor Croly died in 1930, his paper went from bluestocking to parlor pink, and his galaxy of talent flew apart. Often, under Bruce Bliven, the NR was peas-in-a-pod with the Nation and, for a brief period (1935), it adhered to a Marxist line.* By the time Willard Straight's son joined the staff, Croly's shadow on the magazine had faded to a faint blur...
...wife Valerie, a horticulturist. Their home, "Wildwood," was a warbling, fragrant inferno of prize flowers and bird-feeding stations, surrounded by a rusty iron fence. Matthew was a cold-souled, pipe-fondling dispenser of gently eviscerating irony. Valerie's "pale unearthly face was . . . like some silky autumn pod." They were about as capable of love as a stuffed finch and a glass calla lily. Edith was twelve when she came to them, 21 when their death freed her. In all her years with them she had no enduring reason to believe that they felt affection or even pity...