Word: roar
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...Roar. Rattle. Bump-bump-bump. Bee-eep beep. Clang. Rat-tat-tat. The illuminated sign at a Nishi-Ginza intersection in downtown Tokyo blinks a tentative 80, then flashes to 82. Red light. Screech! North-south traffic stops. The number blinks: 81, 79, 78. Ready, eastwest? Engines whine. Clutches out. Getaway! Flash goes the sign: 79, 81, 82-84!-See THE WORLD, The Fresh Start...
...shuck "winter sickness" and speak soulfully of the Good Life. Above all, the good life of summer is for the young. Graduating high school students, wearing old-fashioned visored caps, swarm through the cities celebrating their freedom. Stockholm's pimply raggare, teenage rowdies who drive battered U.S. cars, roar up the Kungs-gatan, stop to pick up a nymphet, then roar off again. Mothers and children troop off to cottages beside gleaming lakes and fjords to sail, swim and hike until fall. Except that they usually adjourn to summer palaces, Scandinavia's royal princes and princesses follow much...
...anybody? At last, Bruce McLaren's Cooper cleared the crest of the last hill and started down the final straight. But McLaren was only coasting: his generator belt had parted and his engine was dead. Then came a sound that made McLaren swivel in his seat-a staccato roar, rapidly increasing in volume. Here was Clark, buzzing merrily along, ignorant of the drama up ahead. Down the straightaway rolled Bruce McLaren, at a desperate 30 m.p.h. Down the straightaway flashed Jimmy Clark, at a casual 130 m.p.h. McLaren was pounding his knees in helpless frustration as Clark zipped past...
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...
...friends, Romans, country-men" scene, Ritten-house is forced to shout at full voice for about five minutes to a crowd whose mercurial temper is painfully, if not laughably, stilted. They roar disapproval run around in confusion, roar approval, fidget and scratch as Antony continues and like well-trained beasts roar again. When Antony whips out Caesar's blood-stained toga, which looks for all the world as it it's been smeared with strawberry ripple ice-cream, the mob gives its practiced gasp, but the audience, instead of being awestruck, chuckles...