Word: tracing
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...contender for the Republican nomination for the presidency. Politics aside, there are strong inducements for those involved to claim that the real Booth had been run to ground: not least, the $50,000 War Department reward for his capture. It is up to Cosgrove, largely on his own, to trace the actual circumstances of Lincoln's assassination, Booth's escape and supposed death after a twelve-day hunt, and the mysterious burial. The Pinkerton man, a former Union spy, leaves no headstone unturned tracking the actor, a onetime Confederate agent. It is a harrowing assignment, leading...
...seem a remote corner of the world, but this was once the land of the all-powerful Medes, the birthplace of Zoroaster, and from its capital of Tabriz the Mongol Khans ruled an empire that stretched from Egypt to Cathay. Though a disastrous series of earthquakes leveled every trace of Tabriz's great palaces, the region's ethnic Turks remain a driving force in Iran. Not only do they represent more than a third of the population (5 million in Azerbaijan, 8 million more in the rest of the country), but they are the nation's middle...
Life has rarely failed to give Meryl, who is 30, what she wants. "Mine is a Cinderella story all right," she says with a trace of self-mockery. She and her two younger brothers grew up in the leafy and comfortable exurbs of central New Jersey; her father was a pharmaceutical-company executive and her mother a graphic artist who did most of her work at home. "I didn't have what you'd call a happy childhood," insists Streep. "For one thing, I thought no one liked me . . . Actually, I'd say I had pretty good...
...contagious affection. Farrow and Perkins project neither. Farrow's Phoebe is naive without the endearing thread of home spun innocence. Her vocal habit of putting equal stress on each syllable, word and sentence leads to aural torpor. Perkins' Jason is waspish and petulant with out a trace of roguish lovability...
...weeks ago I went for a bike ride up into the hills with a friend who works in the pasta factory, a man who has mastered the world and mentality of American business. The further one climbs up into the Appenines the less trace there is of modernization, until finally one reaches little villages that have stood since the middle ages. They are as fine an example of balance between man and nature as the pasta factory is of the destruction of that balance. We ate in a little Trattoria where the pasta was made fresh in the kitchen instead...