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He prowled through the living-room, and stood in the sun-parlor, that glass-walled room of wicker chairs and swinging couch in which they loafed on Sunday afternoons. Outside only the lights of Doppelbrau's house and the dim presence of Babbitt's favorite elm broke the softness of April night. "Good visit with the boy. Getting over feeling cranky, way I did this morning. And restless.
Lunch over, Tom hopped a jet scooter and sped off to his private laboratory. The modernistic glass-walled structure designed by Tom himself had every tool of modern scientific research, from electronic microscope to helium cryostat. As always, whenever he was absorbed in a new idea, Tom was eager to get to work. "Let's see what I'm shooting for.
Anthony was late and the venerable philanthropist was awaiting him in a glass-walled sun parlor, where he was glancing through the morning papers for the second time.
That lock opened, inside the glass-walled room. The plastic container appeared. The man leaped upon it. He gobbled its contents, and Calhoun was nauseated. But as the para gobbled, he glared at the two who with Murgatroyd watched him. He hated them with a ferocity which made veins stand out upon his temples and fury empurple his skin. Calhoun felt that he'd gone white.
She was not looking at him especially, until she turned to go on. Then she waved her hand carelessly slightingly, he felt in his misery and went down the steep slope. Until he could no longer see the crown of her hat he looked after her. Then, the sickness of his terrible loneliness upon him again, he turned and slowly climbed back to his glass-walled prison.
As she said this in the tone of disdainful acerbity in which she always addressed the Irishman, Felicia was at work on the bust of the Nabob which she had just begun, adjusting her model, taking up and putting down the modelling tool, wiping her hands with a quick movement on the little sponge, while the light and peace of a lovely Sunday afternoon flooded the circular glass-walled studio.
The week following my arrival at Tanana was a solid week of cold weather, the thermometer ranging around 50° and 60° below zero, and that means keeping pretty close to the house. Even the sentries at the army post are withdrawn and the protection of the garrison is confided to a man who watches the grounds from a glass-walled cupola above the headquarters building.
Outside, about a hundred yards beyond the purple glass, rose another ancient glass-walled apartment skyscraper. Beyond, Lake Erie rippled glintingly. "Another bomb-test?" Gusterson asked. Fay pointed at the building. "Tomorrow," he announced, "a modern factory, devoted solely to the manufacture of ticklers, will be erected on that site." "You mean one of those windowless phallic eyesores?"
"I'm interested in something big." The broad-shouldered man lit a perfumed dope stick. "What would you call big?" he said softly. "What's the biggest you've got?" The man narrowed his eyes, smiling. "Maybe you'd like to try Slam." "Tell me about it." "Over here." The crowd opened up, made a path. Retief and Magnan followed across the room to a brightly-lit glass-walled box.
From his glass-walled eyrie, Jack Corey gazed down upon the wooded slopes and dreamed of what they hid of beauty and menace and calm and of loneliness. He saw them once drenched with rain; but mostly they lay warm under the hot sunshine of summer.
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