Word: bachelored
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Unlike these three old-fashioned rousers, Royal Regiment, by Gilbert Frankau (Dutton, $2.50), is as modern as gas masks for babies. Laid in 1936-37, it tells what happens when Major "Rusty" Rockingham, bachelor scion of an aristocratic British military family, falls in love with the dazzling American wife of his hardbitten colonel. Nothing happens: at the last moment both Rockingham and Camilla renounce their honorable passion for the greater honor of Empire. The Wally Simpson case, which breaks simultaneously, makes a well-pointed contrast...
Commenting on the change, Dean Leighton said yesterday, "The Faculty Council has recently voted that begining with the class of 1943 the maximum requirements for the bachelor's degree shall be 16 courses, or 15 courses for men doing tutorial work under Plan A, including such work in English composition during the Freshman year as may be prescribed, instead of 15 or 16 courses in addition to English A as the been required in the past...
...enthusiasm he lunches in his laboratory on sandwiches, coffee and condensed cream, perhaps with the bloody carcass of a rat in the sink at his elbow and surrounded by jars of pickled pigeon specimens. He used to play golf but has given it up, used to be a bachelor, but gave that up also almost at the age of 60, when he married...
...more tangible results from Widow Nieman's bequest to "elevate the standards of journalism . . ." can hardly be expected until the present Fellows get back to their typewriters. Meanwhile, they are having a fine time. Bachelor Fellow Herb Lyons of the Mobile Press Register lives in a domitory; all the rest have apartments or houses. Their wives complain that they are rarely home for dinner. Ebullient Ed Lahey, who already knows most of the Cambridge cops by name and won enough from his fellow Fellows in a poker game to buy a ton of coal, has begun to educate Boston...
Like Henry James, the greatest of them, many U. S. expatriate writers have come to troubled old age, have shown uneasy consciences over their expatriation. But not Logan Pearsall Smith. Now 73, a lanky, aristocratic, pink-cheeked bachelor who has been called the most perfect living British mandarin, he has contentedly lived 50 years in France and England. His autobiography, Unforgotten Years (Little, Brown, $2.50), is witness that he finds in England a happiness as poised and honeyed as his perfected prose (in Trivia, Reperusals and Recollections...