Lee had to work like a nailer to get the awkward craft turned about, and then by great labor at the crank for the space of five glasses by the ships' bells, or two and a half hours, at last he arrived under the stern of what he felt certain was the Eagle.

A fireball hurtled across the southern Tucson sky in broad daylight Saturday morning.

Hepaticology, outside the temperate parts of the Northern Hemisphere, still lies deep in the shadow cast by that ultimate closet taxonomist, Franz Stephani—a ghost whose shadow falls over us all.

These aren’t impractical performance machines or big-dollar luxury cars; they’re the sunny but humble conveyances you see trolling South Beach with discreet Enterprise stickers on their rear bumpers, cars aimed at people who want a spacious droptop for short money.