Word: bosomed
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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...Senator pressed his quest farther back in history. "Oh, yes," Mrs. George replied, the antique cameo pin on her bosom rising upon a swell of honest pride, the W. C. T. U. had gone to the Governor's assistance long ago; in 1923, when the Legislature refused to vote him $250,000 to enforce Prohibition. She had gone to the Governor personally and told him that she and her colleagues would get that money for him. They had called their fund the "Governor's Enforcement Fund" and this was how it had been spent...
Scorpions crawled on the bosom of Lake Cayuga one afternoon last week - the red-and-white-footed scorpion of Cornell and the blue-and-gold of California. For nearly three miles they crawled evenly, staccato voices in their tails urging their legs to greater labor. Then open water began to show. There was a scorpion's length of it between the two when Cornell-her eight gigantic hearties bursting from a last effort which her slightly lighter California guests could not match-shot across the line, winner of a crew race that promised brave things for Cornell later...
...roaring Progressive Republican. He still votes with them, but he seems to be an extinct volcano. The old gentleman there, with a kindly face-no, not that one; he is Frederick Gillett, who used to be Speaker of the House and has now retired to the dignified bosom of the Senate as a reward for his long and faithful labor in the Republican cause. The other one farther back is Senator Cummins, who used to be a Progressive Republican, but now is one of the Nestors of the Senate, chairman of the Judiciary Committee; and one of the new Progressives...
...Chicago-A billowy lady whose arms were swathed in bandages of diamonds, whose bosom, ears and neck were involved with various gems, sat in a box to hear the Chicago Civic Opera open its season with Richard Strauss's Der Rosenkavalier. While it may have appeared that she was foolhardy to let herself be seen with so great a fortune glittering upon her person, a critic in the next box observed that she spent her time toying with an object which she took from her vanitv case. It was a police-whistle...
...knuckles a moment later belabored that door, a panel in its upper section slid back and in the slit appeared the bulldog brow of a surly doorkeeper. The reporter was a man typical of his kind, a seedy fellow, drearily accoutred. No evening shirt fluted his meagre bosom. No glittering lady stood beside him. He was obviously not wealthy. He was not a member of the "Club." "Beat it, Buddy," said the grim face at the slit...