Word: tannings
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Rummaging through his capacious tan briefcase, he fetched up some affidavits which, he claimed, would prove that Johns Hopkins Professor Owen Lattimore "is a Soviet agent and also that he either is, or at least has been, a member of the Communist Party...
...Eliot himself was, as usual, far from Broadway. Last week, just returned from a holiday in South Africa, and with a slight tan covering his bookish pallor, Mr. Eliot was back in his accustomed London haunts, primly pacing his familiar round. His day began at 8 a.m. At noon, after a man-sized breakfast of tea, porridge, bacon & eggs, he set out for his place of business, the publishing firm of Faber & Faber, in Bloomsbury. He left his flat in Cheyne Walk, Chelsea (Expatriate Henry James used to live in the flat just below), wearing an impeccable dark blue suit...
Most of the others were waiting as Secretary of State Dean Acheson slipped through the side entrance of the White House executive wing and strode into the Cabinet room. He took his seat at the long, polished table, opened up his little tan leather dispatch case, waited for the conference to begin. At the table there were owlishly grave Treasury Secretary John Snyder, Acting Commerce Secretary Cornelius Vanderbilt ("Sonny") Whitney, intelligence counselors and a brace of presidential aides. For the Defense Department also present were Under Secretary Steve Early, Navy Secretary Francis Matthews and General Omar Bradley, the chairman...
Michael jumped to the ground, white-faced, yanked open the arena door and ran in. His 14-year-old sister followed him, screaming for help. They began hitting the lion with sticks. Sultan crouched over his victim, glared back at them over his hulking tan shoulder. Then he lowered his head again over May Schafer. Outside, three-year-old Sandra screamed shrilly...
...pleasantly dissonant tuning up and chatter stopped in mid-note as the grey-haired man in the tan sport coat walked briskly across the stage to the podium. For a few silent moments his glance flickered over the musicians of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, his shale-blue eyes and handsome, melancholy face warm with affection. When his glance had embraced them all, Charles Munch picked up his baton, smiled and said: "Maintenant, relax." A moment later, Boston's 50-year-old Symphony Hall was rocking joyously with the rehearsal of Hector Berlioz' bounding overture, The Corsair...