Word: buffs
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...United Kingdom. Punster Sydney Smith, its first editor, aimed "to erect a higher standard of merit, and secure a bolder and a purer taste in literature, and to apply philosophical principles and the maxims of truth and humanity to politics." The Review was originally Whig; its cover, buff and blue, always proclaimed its old faith...
...corner of 13th and Irving Streets, Washington, D. C., stands a small meeting house of light buff brick with concrete steps and opaque glass windows. By combining Sunday-school room with auditorium, the church will seat 400. It is the Irving Street Friends Orthodox Church. At present there is no "experienced speaker*," but one will be found by March 10, 1929. Beginning on Sunday, and for at least four years after, the President of the U. S. will be numbered among its congregation...
...pictures shows a giant-bosomed, giant-toothed dame in frightening decolletage playing blind man's buff and shrieking DON'T HELP ME! DON'T HELP ME! to a row of gallants cringing away from her fat lurches. Another shows a scared young gentleman making a hasty escape from a roadster in which sits a sleek, lascivious wench. The young gentleman cries NO, NO! NOT THAT! A third displays a lady in taxicab whose face expresses explosive frenzy as she shouts at her indolent escort YOU'RE SO KIND TO ME, AND I'M SO TIRED...
...TIME stands out in relief, because it all stands out, it is all raised to a high pitch, elevation-as if the whole round earth were a continuous, altitudinous tableland. TIME is so intense; no shading, no contrast-all scarlet red unrelieved by any restful, soft yellow or buff tints. It is like a rich full dinner with no salad or soup. To read TIME is to take an extended journey on the swift Twentieth Century Limited with no stops or layovers; no dimming of lights by night, nor shading the glowing sun by day. TIME thrills...
...madman was a clergyman and Conductor, when you receive a fare haunted him all the way to Boston from the moment when "the train started and the car-wheels began their 'clack-clack-clack-clack-clack' ". . . The funeral was a nightmarish medley of blue and buff trip slips for three-cent fares to Heaven...