Word: torsos
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...London recently Professor Joseph Barcroft, world authority on chemical reactions of the blood, stepped out of a glass case. His face, arms, lips, ears and nose had turned blue. His torso was a barrel of barred indigo; his legs two uncertain aquamarine tendrils; even his nails were blue. He looked like a figure from a futuristic painting. But this blue man laughed, chatted and showed to admiring fellow-scientists the notes of observations he had made on his blood-reactions during the week he had spent in that glass case. His blueness was caused by the fact that the case...
Artur Bodanzky, conducting, called into service the windswept vigor which he acquired last summer at the Lido, Venice, where his lean torso was seen on the beach, wrapped in a gaudy bathrobe. His wife was with him there. Also his son Karl. Also his daughter Elizabeth. He had friends to soothe him, drinks to amuse him. "I ate, drank, smoked and talked too much," said he. Yet spiritual hunger rather than oafish gluttony spoke in the fierceness with which he whipped up the clever and sometimes moving music which Mr. Honegger has written about King David...
...sailor-suitings, Norfolks, long pants and cutaways of this concern, have ever beheld, in the flesh, either Mr. Rogers or Mr. Peet, few are without their conception of the personal appearance of these able outfitters. They envision Rogers as a spindling little man, whose pathetic shanks, shrunken torso and desiccated arms, contrast oddly with the twinkling zest of his round impish face, the shrewd pucker of his mobile mouth; they picture Peet as his twin, in all respects identical. For such are the eloquent small figures that have long capered in the advertising columns of theatre programs and daily newspapers...
...referee made accents in the air. Tunney stood bulging his muscles, striving vainly to appear bestial. At the seventh strophe, Gibbons rose. A polo player at the ringside whispered to his lady: "He looks like Lazarus." Young Tunney again advanced his right fist. Gibbons twisted his torso with a curious jerk, sat down, bewildered, like a man overtaken by exhaustion. The referee counted ten. After the fight, Tunney glanced through a pile of congratulatory telegrams, went off to Long Island for a week-end of golfing and light revelry; Gibbons packed his suitcases, boarded a broiling train for Chicago where...
...ghouls. Enormous lights concentrated their white, sterile fire upon his stubby head. On each side of him, in the opposite corners of a roped square, sat a boxer. On his right was a young German, whose heavy, amazed face protruded from the folds of a bathrobe that concealed a torso bulging with incredible dorsal muscles, a pair of clumsy thighs. On his left sat an old Irishman, tired and sly, with a streak of blood like a scarlet worm running down his chin from the corner of his mouth. The ghouls waited. This man in the blue suit stood before...