Almost as she spoke there appeared the white cylinder of light inside the crimson square.

It had company; a jeep and a truck mounting a big white cylinder.

The long, white pointed cylinders still wore red stars on their flanks.

Just one small white cylinder of paper packed with rich dark tobacco.

Then two waxy white cylinders half an inch through and three inches long.

At first they seemed big white cylinders of vague import.

She drew forth a slim white cylinder and tossed the package on the table.

He knew where the Standpipe's thick white cylinder should have been, but it wasn't there.

He looked at the small white cylinder, cupped in his hand.

But her eyes turned involuntarily toward the white cylinder he held out.