Word: windedly
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...Astronauts will work along with the engineers-as experimental test pilots always do. Each man will help design one component of the space capsule: communications system, propulsion, instrumentation, etc. To toughen up for the physical trials and psychological terrors of space, they will spend hours in low-pressure chambers, wind tunnels, human cocktail shakers; they will be jolted on supersonic rocket sleds, flown in balloons and supersonic aircraft and eventually test-rocketed by Army Redstone missiles at 4,000 m.p.h. more than 100 miles from Cape Canaveral down the Atlantic firing range...
Snow, mixed with a northwest wind, drove across Washington's National Airport as the presidential Columbine III touched down on its special flight from Florida. Columbine's chief passenger: Secretary of State John Foster Dulles, 71, ordered back by his doctors from his convalescence at Jupiter Island. Fla. (TIME, April 13) to re-enter Walter Reed
Night had settled upon the roof of the world. With a jingling of harness and the clipclop of hooves, a small caravan wound slowly up the 17,000-ft. pass. Ahead lay the snowy summits of the Himalayas, an ocean of wind-whipped peaks and ranges that have served Tibet as a rampart since time began. Cavalrymen with slung rifles spurred forward; state officials in furs, wearing the dangling turquoise earrings of their rank, sat tiredly in the saddle; rangy muleteers in peaked caps with big earlaps goaded the baggage train up the steep path. As they passed a cairn...
...wind blew down the course throughout the regatta, kicking up rough, lumpy waves which made lining the crews up for the start difficult and cut the times low. Fastest time of the day was posted by the J.V.'s at 7:22 over the mile and five-sixteenths Henley distance. Last week the varsity twice rowed the course under...
...though, Simon's poeticizing betrays him. His final gust tastes too much of sorrow spooned with a sophomore's relish: "Soon [the wind] would blow up great storms across the plain, tear the last red leaves from the vines, strip the trees bent beneath it, its strength unimpeded, purposeless, doomed to exhaust itself endlessly, without hope of an end, wailing its long nightly complaint as if it were sorry for itself, envying the sleeping men, transitory and perishable creatures, envying them their possibility of forgetfulness, of peace: the privilege of dying...