Word: bred
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...scholars, and 10,155 students, not counting a swarm of Radcliffe girls ("We are not coeducational in theory," said former President Conant, "only in practice"). He is the first non-New Englander and the second non-Bostonian* ever to achieve his position. More remarkable, he was born and bred in Iowa (a place that Boston dowagers have allegedly been calling "Ohio"). His present position therefore represents quite a leap, for Harvard can still remember the days when the movements of its presidents had an aura all their own. "The President is in Washington," ran one Harvard communique, "seeing Mr. Taft...
...flash of his old fire, Benton adds: "I will say that in the 1930s, art had more public value than it does now. It belonged to the public. Today it's the property of the dealers, the critics, the art professors and other esoteric specialists." Missouri born and bred, Benton once studied art in Paris, practiced most of the artistic isms then current there. Eventually he came to the conclusion that the only way to achieve universality is by picturing what one knows well. He returned to his own country-boy beginnings for inspiration -and came to be hailed...
Soft Noses Are Best. Dempster was a farmer's son, born and bred in the province of Natal. He was eight years old when his father shot a hippo in the Zambezi River and tethered it to the bank as crocodile bait. That night, creeping to within a yard's distance, Bryan Dempster shot his first croc...
Cathy becomes Alastair's wife-a neat alliance of sexual and mercenary cupidities. But for all Author Scott's efforts, neither Cathy nor Alastair strikes the reader as being highly qualified in their respective fields. This is because, like the characters in so many other well-bred British novels, they are nothing but a pair of author's notions dressed in well-cut suits of prose. Asked to play the role of human beasts, they answer, quite rightly, that they were never destined to be anything more than their tailor's dummies...
...little more than a memory borne on the elusive scent of a perfume now made by someone else. Yet, during the 1920s, when Paris was still the uncontested capital of haute couture, the unchallenged queen regnant of Paris fashion was petite, disdainful Gabrielle ("Coco") Chanel. A bored, restless, country-bred orphan who fled to the city at 17 with no capital beyond her native Auvergnate shrewdness, Chanel had parlayed a flair for simple elegance into a million-dollar fashion business whose headquarters was the distinctive salon at 31 Rue Cambon, Paris...