Word: sweatingly
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...young, sweat-soaked U.S. Peace Corpsmen emerged from the African rain forest to find a neat, white clinic in a straw-hut village - and a warm Willkommen from a couple of young German doctors, themselves members of a peace corps. If it has not happened already, such an encounter is bound to occur sooner or later. Struck by the success of the U.S. program, no fewer than 22 nations are beginning to field Peace Corps of their...
...Wyrick, is so unbelievably stupid and immature that it's good or, maybe, "camp." An unfortunate named Aldrich wrote a story called "No Native Dancer He." One product of his poetic sensibilities: "And everywhere around the floor that we tripped and shuffled was left a brimming tide of sweat...
...South Bend. Handsome and raven-haired, Parseghian could pose for anyone's image of the spirit of Notre Dame?wearing Leahy's shoes and Rockne's suit. He has to win because the laundry bill is too high when he loses; his wife has to change the sweat-soaked bed sheets each morning. Navy Coach Wayne Hardin delights in telling of playing partners with Parseghian in a golf match a few summers ago: "We came up to the 18th hole and had to win it to take the match. Ara stuck one on the green, about 40 ft. from...
...only odd thing Ford will notice now is that his left hand will not perspire because the missing nerves controlled the sweat glands; it will feel warmer than his right hand because blood vessels will be dilated. The main axillary artery blockage cannot be cleared up by drugs, and if Ford's cramps return next year, about the only thing left will be surgery to bypass the blocked artery with a piece of his own vein or a Dacron tube. But by week's end Dr. Cooley was a relieved optimist: "Now I know how the surgeon felt...
...looks like a big shaggy beast that has been out in the rain. Rumpled suit, tangled hair, drooping moustache, he lumbers onto the stage and stares in shy bewilderment at the audience. Rivulets of sweat stream down his face. He hikes one stumpy leg onto a straight-back chair, lazily scratches his guitar and sings. The voice is honest, pleasant, but nothing special. Yet when Georges Brassens sings, all Paris cocks...