Word: breast
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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...expect to spend the day right here in Cambridge singing Songs from Vagabondia in the best Carmen manner as I gayly trip to Emerson J with shredded wheat on my breast and waistcoat--to hear Professor Prescott lecture on the Principle of Integration. Then to counteract this I shall blossom forth amid the literary buds in Sever 28 where ten o'clock will find Professor Lowes discussing Shelley--a far from, integrated person--or was he? At least I know the story about the ladies and his crossing the room clad only in disremembrance...
...housewife whose husband comes a bit unsteadily home point at him the finger of scorn, for if he has been drinking German wine he has done a patriotic duty and he may well smite his breast and proudly assert the fact." '"Formerly all true Germans were called upon to lay down their lives upon the field of battle, which they gladly did. Today I call upon every patriot to drink more wine...
...Federation has three mother's milk depots at three Health Stations. Thither come mothers who are producing more milk than their own babies need. They can sell the balance of the day's production and earn thereby enough money to keep from working. If they went to work while breast feeding, their own children would suffer from irregular nutrition. Besides, the energy the mothers need for creating milk would go into work. They could go around as wet nurses. But there too the effect of irregular hours would tell. The foster baby would also probably suckle more milk than...
Mamma. The name mammary gland is often given to the breast, or mamma, although the latter is made up of not only the glandular tissue, but also of fibrous and fatty tissues, blood vessels, lymphatics and nerves. In the man the breast is usually flat and insignificant. But traces of the glandular portions exist...
Petrushka, curious, inimitable ballet-child of Igor Stravinsky, was given last week for the first time this season at the Metropolitan Opera House, Manhattan. Poor Petrushka, superbly done by Adolf Bolm, danced and danced, wriggled and writhed, beat his breast, accomplished nothing, became in the end just the pitiful ghost of the brave puppet he was. Florence Rudolph was the ballerina; Giuseppe Bonfiglio, the dashing Moor who won her; Serge Sondeikine, the author of the dazzling bright sets; Stravinsky, the genius in back of it all, Stravinsky at his best-sure, reckless, rhythmical, vivid...