Word: celling
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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Slow in awakening to his surroundings and to the reality of his confinement, Patient Seabrook's first reaction was that everything was wrong. He had wanted a nice, quiet, secluded cell where he would not be able to get his hands on a bottle of whiskey. He found himself in a modern hospital resembling an expensive hotel, where he was compelled to meet and talk with other patients, and where he slept in "a wide-open show window, an illuminated dog kennel." The medical attention was so close that, as he objected profanely, "people come walking...
...coffee, he was so angry that he forgot about being a drunkard, so exhausted and stimulated by rage he did not miss his usual morning half tumbler of Scotch. Thus the cure began. After he had bawled out doctors, nurses and the world in general, calling for a padded cell as preferable to modern scientific, heartless hypocrisy, another patient told him quietly: "Say, fellow, you've got it all wrong. You don't tell them. They tell you." Once he had accepted its concealed, but absolutely inflexible, discipline. William Seabrook found the asylum a pleasant and interesting lockup...
Secretly the deputy sheriffs of Contra Costa County rigged up a loudspeaker in the drawer of a bureau in Anacleto's cell with direct telephone communication to the next room. A bright floodlight was turned on Anacleto to keep him from sleeping. Then Deputy Ted Christ, who speaks Spanish, went to work in the next room...
...yearly grist of sordid British murderers and that misguided Irish patriot Sir Roger Casement. The Acid Drop also corroded Clarence Hatry, greatest of British swindlers, whose gigantic frauds unsettled confidence in The City and hastened Depression (TIME, Oct. 21, 1929). Last week Super-Swindler Hatry sat in a cell from which he may emerge in 1944, and the shriveled 83-year-old form of the Acid Drop lay in its grave. Indomitable to the last, Mr. Justice Avory had gone for a chill walk during his Whitsuntide holiday. That night an old friend, the Lord Chief Justice of England, Baron...
That Bandit Spada, who once was chased through the maquis by two full regiments of gendarmes, armored tanks and reporters armed with rifles, should not know that his death was approaching, Corsican officials took elaborate precautions. Carpet was laid before his cell door to deaden the sound of hurrying feet. M. Deibler's assistants put up their guillotine with tools swathed in thick felt. The effect of all this was spoiled by a group of leather-lunged, smutty-nosed moppets who scrambled up a rock outside Bandit Spada's cell and shrieked "Spada dies at dawn! Spada dies...