Word: tracing
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...Sixth of the Earth. The Russian land is vast: 8,500,000 square miles. If the city of Los Angeles were tossed into the Pripet Marshes (it would fit quite easily), the Mississippi River would trace the line of the Urals, Boston would be lost somewhere in the Siberian plains, and there would still be plenty of room to fit the North Atlantic Ocean, as far as the Azores, into the emptiness of Soviet Asia. Within this huge expanse (one-sixth of the world's inhabited land surface), there is vast diversity, and some of the natural wonders...
...rest of the cast must keep pace with him. Fortunately for the HDC production, Thomas Gaydos is a most convincing Henry. Throughout the first act his performance has a bizarre flavor that passes very well for insanity. Gaydos can even roll his eyes in approved madman style without a trace of hackneyed or forced acting. Then, in scene one of the second act, he becomes rational without the awkwardness that too sudden or too complete a change from mad raving would-bring. Gaydos performance is actually one of the best controlled and thought out that I have seen...
...which Harcourt Amory was the first sergeant. "In the course of conversation it transpired that Mr. Amory had formerly occupied 19 Matthews and related how he had bored the hole and prepared his document. Though a diligent search was instituted by the two occupants of the rooms, no trace of the papers could be found...
...Communists set out to identify and punish the rioters of the June uprising, to sniff out and crush every lingering trace of dissidence, and to discipline party members who were guilty of "capitulatory behavior." Strongman Ulbricht fired Wilhelm Zaisser, boss of the SSD (the Soviet zone security police), reinstated the backbreaking work norms, launched a clattering campaign against Western "spies" and "saboteurs." East German papers were crammed with lurid stories of arrests, trials, confessions and stern punishments. By last week, in the courts of cold-eyed Minister of Justice Hilde Benjamin, "the Red guillotine," some 320 sentences had been handed...
...Oyster Bay, Marlborough Street, Northeast Harbor. Mr. Flood is too much a product of this world to be rewarding to critics intent on the game of pinning the tale on other authors. Except for a brief glimpse of the Tycoon in his Wall Street lair, there is no trace of Fitzgerald's awe in the book's pictures of the twenties. Nor does Mr. Flood have any of Marquand Sr.'s quiet grudge or Marquand Jr.'s compulsion to renounce loudly the world of wealth and position. Mr. Flood's even perspective, whether it be laid to ignorance...