Word: streamingly
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...miles up, where the air is thin and cold, a fearful wind zigzags round the earth at 200 m.p.h. Meteorologists call it the "jet stream." Last week, at Asbury Park, N.J., a convention of the International Air Transport Association considered the jet stream and the effect it will have on the operation of the high-flying airliners of the future...
...crew of his special train banded themselves into a "Sad Symphony" of toy ukuleles, kazoos and slide whistles to play satiric take-offs on Wagner, Kabalevsky and Sousa. A waiter sang Ol' Man River and a porters' quartet turned to on Down by the Old Mill Stream, Finally, at his musicians' urging, the 83-year-old little perfectionist stood up to conduct them himself in shirtsleeves and beret. "That was a little out of tune, Maestro," grinned a trumpeter, afterward. Toscanini beamed happily: "Well, a little, but it was good...
Briskly and unemotionally and with advice of counsel, Witness Field turned back a stream of questions because they "might lead me into areas" where he might incriminate himself. He declined flatly to say whether he was a Communist, whether he knew Browder, whether he knew Budenz. He admitted he had known Lattimore since 1934, had worked with him as a "professional colleague" at the Institute of Pacific Relations. They saw each other at international conferences, he explained-that sort of thing. It had been five or six years, he thought, since he had seen him last. As to whether Lattimore...
...Sulzberger's small (20 by 15 ft.) office (he uses the imposing publisher's office only for conferences) flows a constant stream of blue paper memos, suggestions, questions and advice to all departments. Most of those to the editorial department are necessarily after the fact; usually he does not see news stories and editorials until they are printed. To help keep track of things, he makes frequent notes in the notebook he always carries. Once, at a private dinner, he heard a friend talk about a new film-color process, jotted down a note. When a story...
...country for Easter picnics, saw the Castilian plateau in an almost forgotten dress. Since 1942 central Spain has been brown and barren with drought. Last week the plain was alive with white and yellow flowers; trees that had seemed dead last summer were budding again, and water sparkled in stream beds dry for years. But even looking at the unaccustomed softness of the land, Spaniards could not put aside their apprehensions. Their government was spending its last gold reserves for wheat. Unless this year's crops in Spain were unusually good or unless help came from outside, there would...