Word: blanks
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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...second volume Hans Castorp comes down in time to fight in the World War. He is scarcely conscious of the masque in which he has been an actor. Yet he is no longer a total blank as on his arrival. He has listened to Settembrini talking democratic politics. Peeperkorn, who has won Madame Chauchat and dominated Castorp with the rest, is the first...
...Pennsylvania to have sunk her in actual warfare. In the third place, the big guns are not actually fired. Every big turret gun has mounted upon it a small "subcalibre" gun. The gun crew goes through all the motions of loading, aiming, firing the big guns, but only the blank cartridges in the little gun actually go off. In the same way a submarine, popping up beside a battleship, need not actually discharge a torpedo but may merely indicate its presence with, for instance, a blue light. Firing even blanks from big guns and even dummy-head torpedoes would make...
...inquisitive world, will be at the beck and call of the Deans of the Class of 1931. A Freshman will fail to pass two of his November hour examinations, and from the recesses of University Hall will fly a message: "Bring us the advisor's report on Mr. Blank!" The Student Advisory Committee will go through its files, discover the desired report, and dispatch it posthaste to University 4. And presumably the Deans will peruse carefully the words written by a Junior or Sophomore--about the character, personality, and habits of a mere Freshman...
...rifles. Scouts, grenade dischargers, and wire cutters mingled in the heat of the fray, and many a sailor showed the potential ability of a movie actor by "biting the dust" with a consumate reality of the battle scenes in "What Price Glory." Little pin points of fire from blank shells glowed through the murkiness of the medical men ran about trantically with empty stretchers. All the ghastliness of bloody battle was spewed out on the peaceful field...
...woman edged through the crowd unnoticed, holding a small revolver between her cupped hands which she extended toward Il Duce, as though in adoring supplication. Taking careful, point-blank aim she pulled the trigger; but at that same instant a band struck up the Fascist hymn "Giovinezza," and Signor Mussolini threw back his head proudly to listen. The bullet sped, but not into his brain. He had thrown back his head far enough so that the leaden slug only clipped an atom of flesh from the tip of his nose...