Word: whines
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...Mein Kampf and Pilgrim's Progress. But the authors usually share a common conviction. More often than not they are men who regard themselves as unjustly condemned. In that company, Jailbird Jean Genet is a rarity; he has no complaint against society at large, nor does he whine that he took a bum rap. His latest book, Miracle of the Rose, is neither by an outsider looking in nor an insider look-ing out. Imprisoned for theft, Genet belonged behind bars-not only legally but spiritually. He writes of the tightly controlled little world of Fontevrault State prison...
...receiver rigged with red and green warning lights and an automatically rotating antenna. In a bugged room, its circuits will lock on to offending transmitters, its warning lights will blink and its antenna will point at the bug. Another detector resembles a small transistor radio, but the high-pitched whine from its speaker dies down as its whip antenna is swept toward a hidden bug. For those who do not want to bother locating bugs, a scrambling device concealed in a fountain pen can generate static in any radio-frequency bug within 100 ft., making it impossible for an electronic...
Childie (Eileen Atkins) is a long, pale taffy pull of a girl with the cringing whine of an eternal sycophant and the wily compliance of a slave. At the arbitrary whim of Sister George, Childie must kneel and kiss the hem of her master's skirt, drink her dirty bath water or chew and swallow one of her soggy cigar butts. Childie's fraud is that while she plays the lesbian, she lusts after men and cheats on Sister George...
Moreover, much of what irritates modern man is simply new noise traded in for old. The ear that flinches at the diesel blat of a bus might recoil as much from the clang-rattle-crash of the old trolley. The whine of rubber tires replaces the bang and screech of unsprung cartwheels on cobblestones; the backfire supplants the ringing hooves of dray horses...
Fluttering high above the craggy mountains and lush rolling hills in northern Thailand, the tiny, single-engine aircraft picked its way through the mist, in search of a village airstrip. "I think that's it," the pilot shouted to a companion over the whine of the engine. Dipping down through the clouds, the plane came in at treetop level, then bounced into a 700-ft. clearing. Eager tribeswomen in turbans and blue-striped frocks rushed toward the visitors, smiling through betel-stained teeth. Their menfolk set about happily unloading medicine, food, seed and other supplies. "This...