Word: sniffs
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...crisis. The job of ruling England has become so unattractive that her children won't take it on." In London last week, the new Shute was full of woolly Australian sheepishness. In the Wet, he explained, was the result of "several astringent years of Socialist rule" and "the sniff of decay in the still bomb-shattered London. I had forgotten the resilience of my own race. Britain sparkles with optimism. London is a city with new buildings brushing shoulders with the old ..." Novelist Shute-an aeronautical engineer whose full name is Nevil Shute Norway-was sparkling with optimism...
...learn from White that each baron owed the King an annual sniff of hot pie in payment of his feudal dues, that a certain bone from the body of a pure black cat that had been boiled alive was believed to make one invisible. Against these curiosa, the characters still manage to hold their own: Sir Galahad, who is so priggish a saint that lesser knights loathe him; Jenny, who cannot make her mind up whether to be a good woman or go on in her usual way; Lancelot, the ugly duckling who is loved by all save himself. Balancing...
Your Aug. 11 Faubus story is extremely insulting. Violence Southward, try as you will to magnify it, is a mere sniff of the ugly physical revulsion, anarchy and race violence exploding in your own backyard (Philadelphia, Washington, D.C., New York City, Detroit...
...role, keeps such a clear grasp of Jacobowsky's innate strength that every sly remark creeps through with the force of wisdom as well as the bite of wit. And Germany's Jürgens, curling back his lip and swirling his eyes as he exults, "I sniff battle-I'm alive again!" accomplishes the tricky task of making Actress Maurey's summation of him seem just right, and somehow regrettable: "There are no men left in this bleak, awful, modern world like...
Grant Holloway is a Chicago free-lance magazine writer with "ears like wire recorders." Halfway through Let No Man Write My Epitaph, he slips out of his Lake Shore apartment to sniff at the "great beast of a city" that crouches like a "blue-black panther" in the slum area beyond Chicago's North Clark Street. His socialite wife, Wanda, watches him go: "She smiled, knowing him so well. Prowling. For the story . . . She liked him that way. He should do a novel...