Word: bloods
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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PROSECUTOR CARPENTER "I'm a Sunday-school man," blood (TIME, June 17). When the defense succeeded in moving the trial of the 16 defendants-young union textile workers including six Communists from the North -from hysterical Gastonia to calmer Charlotte, the mob subsided. Radical Labor, muttering that here was another Sacco-Vanzetti case, had less to say. Melodrama was the introduction. A bulky something was wheeled in before the jury. The covering was whipped off to reveal a wax dummy of the slaughtered man, staring, pallid. Madness brought an interval. When a juryman, brooding long on hell and damnation...
...battle hours, suggested night fighting for a change. Suddenly, as if to dispel any notion that they were employing the famed desultory tactics of Quintus Fabius Maximus Verrucosus ("Cunctator"), the Insurgents with almost the entire Democratic army, executed a quick flank movement. With Freebooter Norris taking command and uttering blood-thirsty cries, the opposition Senator-soldiers marched toward the farm lowlands. In a fierce three-hour assault they pushed headlong into this neutral territory, laying behind them a long pipe line stretching from the U. S. Treasury marked Export Debenture...
...Real name: Antonia Merce. Born in Buenos Aires, she is one of the few Argentinians who have pure Spanish blood. Her father, onetime premier danseur at the Madrid Opera, was a Castilian; her mother an Amlulasian...
Some names have come down to us from the history of these eventful and stirring times, names baptized in the blood of Liberty. The famous General Putnam built a set of bastions there in 1777. Molly Pitcher took a shot with her husband's cannon at advancing British regulars. Thaddeus Kosciusko organized and perfected the fortification in 1778. A great iron chain was forged and stretched across the river on log floats. Mad Anthony Wayne defended its position. Baron Steuben drilled our troops; Washington lived there...
...Lieutenant's affair with Catharine Barkley, an English nurse who died in childbirth when he had deserted the wars and taken her to Switzerland, is infused with the chaotic sweep of armies and tenderly quiescent love. In its sustained, inexorable movement, its throbbing preoccupation with flesh and blood and nerves rather than the fanciful fabrics of intellect, it fulfills the prophecies that his most excited admirers have made about Ernest Hemingway. His mannered style, consciously bald, may still be annoying to some, but its pulsing innuendo cannot be denied...