Word: collared
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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...slovenliest man in all Britain writes some of its loveliest prose. Lord Dunsany takes childish pride in the sag of his coat and the splay of his collar, what time he gets lost on a golden road to nowhere, beholding faery sights. Shadows are among his specialties. For The King of Elfland's Daughter (1924) he invented a whole zone of twilight, where unicorns browsed and cabbage-roots were thunderbolts. Now he writes of a crone, cheated of her shadow by a magician of old Spain, and of a romantic worldling who came to the magician's wood...
...gesture, a gesture proper for the farewell of a man who traveled in the Prince of Wales' suite, a man who had risen to the top. Sanders Wertheim fumbled in his pocket, produced a five dollar goldpiece, flung it onto the pier. His employes, heads of departments, white collar men, scrambled for it. Sanders Wertheim threw another. Again a scramble. The ship was sidling from the pier. Until the gap of brown water grew too wide, he continued to throw silver, gold, the employes continued to scratch each other, punch, prod, and squirm to pick up his largesse...
...camera into the Festspielhaus where never a cinema camera had clicked before. Mr. Gest succeeded. Max Reinhardt threw up his hands: "There is no stopping you Americans!" Max Reinhardt posed. Flickering light rays imposed upon the film the likeness of a curly haired German Jew, low of collar, loose of tie-seemingly no great one. Yet at Max Reinhardt's beck there had come to Salzburg not only a world of celebrities but the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra, the Vienna Male Choral Society, the famed Oscar Ziegler Rose Quartet, and a trainload of minor operatic and dramatic stars, stage hands...
Pour le sport, matadors are gored by bulls, half-backs achieve broken collar bones, skiers leap at 90 miles an hour into snowdrifts where many a hip is twisted awry. Last week Sport, most ogreish of modern Deities, lured Frãulein Elfriede Lucker of Dresden and four male companions up the snow-swept Bratschenkopf, near the Austro-German frontier...
...shoulders, a glance cool with appraisal; gentlemen in dinner shirts striped with impossible decorations raise their monocles or feel for their small arms while he shambles into the room-"Viva, l'Ambassadeur." He wears an old grey suit. A jazbo necktie adorns, but fails to hide, the golden collar-stud. His shoes, surely, have never been denied by polish. See how he bows right and left, this gangling fellow, as lean as a lariat, in the old suit and the cracked shoes. His under lip protrudes like the point of a vulgar joke. His jaws move perpetually...