Word: smells
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...sudden smell of burning flesh...
Columnist Paddleford. who can smell a food story behind any big news, toured England at coronation time ("Fluids are hissing, greases are sputtering . . . foods are en masse, the raw and the cooked awaiting the administering hands of the experts"), traveled to Fulton, Mo. in 1946 to hear Churchill's famous Iron Curtain speech (where she interviewed a grocer who said that there were so many dinners given in honor of the event that he sold "enough parsley to decorate the gymnasium"). One New Year's Day. she appropriately headed a column "Some Morning-After Cures" (samples: twelve dashes...
...confession, starting when she met Hall in St. Joseph, Mo. at the Pony Express Bar and took him home to live with her. When Hall told her his kidnaping plan, she agreed because "I was so infatuated." Last September, popping chlorophyll tablets into her mouth to kill the whisky smell, she went to Bobby's school and took the boy to Hall...
...them of their welcome. Cornered one night, Clark and his men beat off raiding Indians hand-to-hand, killing five. But Indians kept after them. Clark and three others were later surrounded and captured, had to watch helplessly while one man was forced to swallow a blazing firebrand: "The smell of burning flesh filled the air. Finally . . . he was still and quiet . . . Thank God the man was dead." Clark and the two others were saved for a banquet, but they escaped. The party had expanded along the way, but before they reached the settlement of Iquitos, seven had been killed...
...Prescott. But the burning of heretics, "a principle taken for granted" in Tudor England, now began on a scale never known before or since. "Women at their marketing, men at their daily trade, the cobbler at his bench, the ploughman trudging the furrow-all learned to know the awful smell of burning human flesh, the flesh of a neighbor, of a man or woman as familiar as the parish pump. Mingling with the steam of washing day, or with the reek of autumn bonfires, or polluting the sweetness of June, that stench . . . even in a cruel age, left behind...