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Word: slushing (lookup in dictionary) (lookup stats)
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Usage:

...easily explained. He was making the snow that fell all over Syracuse this weekend. Even the storm was like Harvard's performance in the tournament. I woke up Thursday morning, looked at those big flakes, and expected a one-foot blizzard. By late that night it had turned to slush...

Author: By Bennett H. Beach, | Title: Soaking Up the B?nnies | 3/22/1971 | See Source »

Hickel pointed out that the proposed line would carry hot oil over frozen soil. Unless designed with extreme care, he insisted, it would act like a hot poker on a cake of ice. After thawing the permafrost, the line might sag into the slush and finally break, spilling oil that could do great harm because it would last for years. Moreover, the line's route would cross earthquake zones. Since each mile of pipe would have a capacity of 100,000 barrels of crude, any break in the line could have disastrous consequences...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Environment: Alaska: Money v. Law | 5/11/1970 | See Source »

...fact, appear to be smoking him, as if he were an afterthought of his own props. Tammy Grimes seems not born of woman, but rather like a creature conjured up at a séance by some zany medium. She delivers lines as if they were exquisitely amusing slush, a kind of Churchillian mimicry: "I'm so pleeezsched. Do be shenshible...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Theater: High on Gin and Sin | 12/12/1969 | See Source »

There's Little Walter, sputtering on a slush dirt sidewalk, trying to find his way to a gig at Pepper's; there's Hank Williams, the bad cowboy, but he was sad, too, man. Stoic on the floor, the sad-bad hillbilly. Crazy Dylan flagging down huge trucks on Highway 61, the Automatic Kid, Energy Beam Rocker. He can't catch anything, just hold his collar to his neck and fall back when the wind hits him. Charly Parker smiling, no black revolt for him, it's all very foggy, bip-bop, if you would be so kind...

Author: By John Leone, | Title: Last Stop. | 5/9/1969 | See Source »

...walk through a dead-looking forest slope of about 100 yards to reach our destination. As we started our trek I saw little except snow and mist. I took about two steps into the forest--and then discovered that the cold ground cover below was much different from the slush I had left behind in Cambridge. My left foot sunk below the surface, and I pitched forward, dropping my sleeping bags before me and sinking into about three feet of snow. No sooner did I collect myself and my bundles, than I fell again. By the time I reached...

Author: By Frank Rich, | Title: The Ghosts of New Hampshire | 4/10/1969 | See Source »

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