Word: handkerchiefs
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: all
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
Ballestrero had initially agreed to an extraordinary series of scientific tests on the shroud in 1978, but refused to permit carbon 14 testing, which was crucial to determining the fabric's age. Handkerchief-size samples needed to be cut out, which, to Ballestrero, was unthinkable for such a revered historical item. After technical improvements made it possible to use samples the size of postage stamps, however, the Cardinal allowed cuttings to be taken last April...
...there is the rest of the city.) With us for a short orientation is Alexander Kira, a professor of architecture at Cornell. Kira is the utter antithesis of public rest-room grunge -- a dapper, courtly figure who carries a silver case for his imported cigarettes and keeps a silk handkerchief in his breast pocket. He's the author of a highly regarded study, The Bathroom, and he's in town for a convention about bathrooms in the home...
...twice. And once a branch snapped back and threw the chain saw out of his hands, one of which was laid open; at the same time, he twisted to avoid the running chain and hurt his back badly. He wrapped up his hand in a handkerchief and loaded the truck, but he couldn't unload it because his back hurt too much. "Saw a doctor after I'd put up with it for a week, and he popped my back into place so's I was able to unload it." Has he ever had back trouble since? "No, never...
...World Theater in downtown St. Paul, he did, after wandering without notes or road map through one more gentle monologue about Lake Wobegon, where the week, as usual, had been quiet, though rainy; after singing every goodbye song he could think of, after taking out a pocket handkerchief and wiping a tear, or perhaps only a drop of perspiration, from the sweet, lined face of Guitarist Chet Atkins, and after running a lordly half hour beyond the close of his time slot...
...smooth bar of soap, wrapped neatly in a white handkerchief and tucked safely in the breast pocket of a faded leather jacket, is all that keeps George from losing himself to the streets. When he wakes each morning from his makeshift bed of newspapers in the subway tunnels of Philadelphia, he heads for the rest room of a nearby bus station or McDonald's and begins an elaborate ritual of washing off the dirt and smells of homelessness: first the hands and forearms, then the face and neck and finally the fingernails and teeth. Twice a week he takes...