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Word: thumb (lookup in dictionary) (lookup stats)
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...rule of thumb is that "the further you get away from Boston, the more famous [the Harvard name] becomes," says David G. Pumphrey, a 1970 HBS graduate and current president of the Harvard Club of Australia...

Author: By Scott A. Resnick, CRIMSON STAFF WRITER | Title: Putting Harvard on the Map | 9/17/1999 | See Source »

...single gene determines even the most concrete aspect of my physical anatomy, say the length of my right thumb. The very notion of a gene "for" something as complex as "intelligence" lapses into absurdity. Intelligence is an array of largely independent and socially defined mental attributes, not a measure of a single something, secreted by one gene, measurable as one number and capable of arranging human diversity into one line ordered by relative mental worth...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Message from a Mouse | 9/13/1999 | See Source »

...what clues will her body yield? Not much, probably. She may help investigators clarify their picture of the crime scene, or indeed help keep Sam Sheppard?s son in a state of frustration for a few more years. Unless she?s got some bushy hair pinched between her thumb and forefinger...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: 'The Fugitive, Part 3: Exhuming Mrs. Kimble' | 8/31/1999 | See Source »

...stood where he dropped me off, in front of a golf course parking lot. I extended my thumb. After several false alarms from arriving golfers, a red hatchback running at full throttle flew by me, only inches from my hopeful digit. A hundred feet down the road, the vehicle lost speed and, with a jerk, spun around with a decisive U-turn. The car accelerated toward me and came to a halt in the unpaved parking lot. I jogged over to the driver's window and asked, "Raglan?" The kid driver with hair in his eyes gave...

Author: By Jonathan S. Paul, | Title: POSTCARD FROM NEW ZEALAND | 7/23/1999 | See Source »

...stood where he dropped me off, in front of a golf course parking lot. I extended my thumb. After several false alarms from arriving golfers, a red hatchback running at full throttle flew by me, only inches from my hopeful digit. A hundred feet down the road, the vehicle lost speed and, with a jerk, spun around with a decisive U-turn. The car accelerated toward me and came to a halt in the unpaved parking lot. I jogged over to the driver's window and asked, "Raglan?" The kid driver with hair in his eyes gave...

Author: By Jonathan S. Paul, | Title: To Raglan and Back | 7/23/1999 | See Source »

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