Word: jacketful
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People look at Vietnam... the figures shadowy, mostly out of sight; the voices indistinct, isolated threats without meaning; isolated glimpses, part of an elbow, a man's jacket (who is the man?), part of a face, a woman's face. Ah, she is crying. One sees the tears. Two tears. One counts the tears. Two bombing raids... I wonder what it is that the people who run TV think about the war, because they have given us this keyhole view; we have given them the airwaves, and now, at this crucial time, they have given us back this keyhole view...
...sort of passively pushed around and ended up on line. Then two cops came in and I thought to myself the jig's up, before I get my doughnut they'll realize where I'm from and put me in a straight jacket and with a blaze of lights and sirens whisk me back to O-2. But miraculously they didn't even speak to me, though I was sure that they and everyone else in the place was staring at me when I wasn't looking: I felt like a fugitive, so tremendously different and apart from everyone else...
...motorcycle epics and all those westerns whose aging heroes have outlived their era. The two protagonists are as painfully inarticulate as any western idol; their sluggishness of mind is of course intended to be read as sensitivity and moral integrity. Billy's even decked out in a fringed suede jacket, boots, and cowboy hat. The beautiful Southwest landscapes of photographer Laszlo Kovaes turn hostile each night around the campfire, where a lot of authentic marijuana dialogue goes on. Like Western heroes, they are isolated in travel from their natural environment; their trail lies on the landscaps, but is never...
...piece suits. Personally, I don't remember what the Puse said to me. (As little as possible, I would imagine.) But I do recall Mrs. Pusey, as she looked at my light blue, summer sports coat with its white pin stripes, saying, "My." Pause. "Isn't that a colorful jacket?" Yes, I replied quite sincerely, I figured I'd try to get by with wearing it once more before the weather turned too cold. Mrs. Pusey quickly passed me off to some sub-dean, though not before smiling a smile which must have been her only defense that...
Though her picture is on the jacket, Sarah Gainham follows the vogue for pen names. She is really Rachel Ames, a successful mystery writer and the wife of an American journalist based in Central Europe. In the first volume of her trilogy she graduated from the rigors of a hackneyed suspense plot; for the moment she has regressed. The third volume will flash back to Julia Homburg's early career in Vienna's Burgtheater, a more likely subject than cold war soul-searching for the novel of manners the author does best...