The pilot had to hold fifteen degrees of crab during the approach to keep her plane from getting blown off the localizer course.

His father said nothing, sat on his grave, sorted through the kvitls, put certain ones in certain pockets of his coat and his pants. Then a small whirlwind of dust and kvitls swept over him, encircled him, and lifted him away.

Play was very slow in the first half.

That was darned nice of him, wasn't it?