Word: abattoir
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: during 1920-1929
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
This walk along the cross-country track as far as the first bridge above the Lars Anderson, has always been a favourite one with the Vagabond-but it should be avoided when the ground is soggy or the wind is blowing form the southwest over the abattoir. Perhaps it was because neither of these desiderata obtained, or perhaps due to the proximity to the Mt. Auburn Cemetery, that the Vagabond was set to musing on the eternal brevity of all things in general, and the period between then and his examinations in particular. But the sun shone too brightly...
...October afternoons there is a dim smoke-blue haze lying mystically over the regions up the Charles. The Boston College tower rises almost old-world through the enchantment of diffused sunlight and even the Brighton abattoir deludes one into a vague resentment against its vociferous detractors. The passing of slim, long, smoothly-swinging eights, joyful with the leisurely power of an early season paddle but intensifies the easy rhythm of the scene, while an artistic contrast is afforded by the soft pad-padding of the occasional cross-country candidate. Through the trees the glimpses of the fields persuade one that...
...Easter vacation-and the completion of the first batch of April hours. O custom, what crime are committed in thy name! And then yesterday afternoon, as the Vagabond was wandering along the sylvan banks of the limpid, winding Charles-somewhere up near Watertown, just this side of the abattoir-wandering be it said with no ulterior purpose but perhaps with a lurking desire to see a burnished dove and prove the business about the newer iris and all the rest of it, he felt that indeed a new era had begun...
...some idea how cultured and conservative Massachusetts roasts her murderers alive. . . . And how these Bostonians get a dead man out of the chair! . . . Elliott . . . started to put on the electrode and now I observed that Vanzetti was getting nervous. . . . There was a sickening stench of scorched flesh in the abattoir. Vanzetti's neck was slowly but surely turning to a blood red and the jugular veins were doubling up in knots...
...public sends out for Percival Christopher Wren. And Percival Christopher Wren, dripping valorous gore in quantities that would bring pallor even to the cheek of the great Sabatini, chuckles grimly. He flourishes his most elaborately cosmopolitan salute, breathes a fierce hymn to Duty and marches again to the abattoir...