Word: skins
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...fortnight before, University of Minnesota Coed Geri Storm brought word from her 58 sorority sisters: "Every girl told me to give Senator Kennedy all her love and to tell him they would all vote for him." At the University of Kansas, Kennedy aged perceptibly while barely escaping with his skin from autograph-hunting students who mobbed him backstage after a speech. In Oklahoma City, a grey-haired lady gushed: "I've come to see him because I think he's wonderful." At a Washington dinner party, a tipsy woman flung herself onto Kennedy's lap, locked...
...answered so positively that he may be suspected by some Southerners of being a cryptocarpetbagger. His prophecy: "Eventually you'll have an amalgamation of the two races in the South. Nature itself knows no distinctions between human beings, no matter what language they speak or what color their skin is. The racial conflicts in the South will eventually and quietly be dissolved by nature-by the forces of procreation...
...Bernice Worden's body was strung up by the heels in a summer kitchen. It had been eviscerated and dressed out like a deer. Her severed head was in a cardboard box, her heart in a plastic bag on the stove. Around the house the police also found: ten skins of human heads, neatly separated from the skull; assorted pieces of human skin, some between the pages of magazines, some made into small belts, some used to upholster chair seats (the largest piece, rolled up on the floor, was the front upper section of a woman's torso...
...thinks that skip missiles will get too much heating and jolting during their violent acrobatics. Glide missiles will have to contend with heat only, and he thinks they can take it. When they speed through the high atmosphere toward a target 5,000 miles away, the temperature of their skin may reach about 1,600° F. This is a bright red-hot, but Eggers seems to think that proper material and careful design can bring the missile safely through its ordeal of fire...
...kind of reluctant dragon among lady elephants. She rumbles and grumbles audibly while stoking the mighty campfire with logs. She would rather blow bubbles in the river or clutch a flower in her trunk than be a proper beast of burden. Around Mooltiki's plotless existence revolve a skin-prickling tiger hunt and Author Godden's evocations of the lush tropical fecundities of Indian jungle country. Rumer Godden is a fastidious craftsman but a trifle hammy. Some of her sentences preen themselves so long before the mirror of sensibility that, like Mooltiki, they never quite carry their weight...