Word: bitted
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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...beginning as harmless a bit of Gilbertian whimsy as was ever conceived by Princeton minds, the movement has suddenly turned serious, to the surprise of every one including its founders. With the promise of Representative Maverick to introduce their bill into Congress and the humorless protest of the Gold Star Mothers, childish things have been put aside, and the Veterans of Future Wars become full-fledged lobbyists in their own right...
...noble of Mr. Philips to remind TIME Inc. that it "would be performing a real public service" if it "would refuse to stoop again to such profit-taking." He must have overlooked that very nifty bit of American Legion profit-taking achieved this year over a Presidential veto in Washington. For that superpatriotic boosting of the national debt, the Legion makes all of us, as taxpayers, even greater "suckers...
...Renfrewshire, Scotland, where a narrow little creek called the River Cart joins the twisting Clyde there is a fertile fan-shaped farm. It boasts three good fields, a bit of useless swamp, a shaded dirt road. For the past year what made it different from all other farm land in Scotland was that every time its farmer raised his eyes from the furrow he saw towering over his head the vast stern and mountainous superstructure of the greatest ship ever built in Britain, Queen Mary. When the farmer looked up from his field last week Queen Mary was gone, safe...
...readers Antony will seem a rare bit of old England. The book is largely made up of letters written by Antony, mostly to his father and mother, with occasional replies and explanatory comment, and never do these aristocratic characters step out of the role to which it pleased their forefathers to call them. Ripped from the context of a commoner's life these letters would still be unusual; from the pen of a viscount they seem extraordinary. Those who think that the good old breed of English aristocrat has vanished will realize after reading Antony that one example...
...full year, too, for Duncan, the Cap'n's young nephew. He had his first hunt, and was blooded (given the accolade of a dab of blood on the cheeks, from a torn bit of the killed fox). He sneaked away to cockfights, hunted rats, drank in wisdom and tall tales from his elders. He learned to distinguish the distant hounds by their baying, how to tell when they were on the right line. When the year came full circle, Duncan's story and the fox's drew nearer & nearer together...