Word: countless
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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Such a statement, like countless others of its dated ilk, puts the employer on a humanitarian pedestal at the expense of the realities of the situation--which in this case indicate that the University was in its premature action merely trying to avoid the annoyance and public embarrassment of a prolonged strike such as that recently endured by Columbia University...
...chin, and the way he tackled his orange juice, cereal, and eggs." He got F.D.R.'s valets to pass on to him any pertinent details. He learned to peek unobtrusively at the height of the presidential workbasket and "the wash" (F.D.R.'s name for the countless documents that required his signature), to estimate the hours of work the President had before him, and to lay plans accordingly. He came to recognize the types of people who encroached on the presidential reserves. One thing in "Uncle Joe" Stalin's favor was that he hopped off to bed early...
...cummuters' train through 11-odd miles of back yards of the Boston suburbs and while I'm not exactly a chronic clothesline peeping tom, one cannot help but note the predominant scenery along the Boston and Maine right-of-way. It can be presumed, I think, that the countless laundries hung out to dry in the numberless back yards of the area represent a cross-section of American family washes. And laundries haven't changed much in recent years, except on the feminine side...
Next to John Harvard, nature's greatest heritage to the Yard is the squirrel. Everyone loves the healthy, frolicking animals except a callous few who wantonly litter the steps of Widener, Sever, and Emerson with countless cigarette butts where uneducated squirrels are liable to find and sample the "filthy weed." Already small, Harvard squirrels are becoming alarmingly stunted as a result of this carelessness, and grey-haired mothers are frantic over the sudden shrinkage in squirrel stature. In response to a Crimson survey, one mother waspishly noted that the Yard was beginning to look like a trash heap and that...
Isenstadt thinks that literary Cambridge's greatest need is a bookstore specializing in scholarly items, such as out-of-print philosophical works and the like, and Mr. I eventually hopes to open such a shop. In the meantime, he'll continue to vend his variegated wares to countless classes to Cantabrigians, come hell, Hearst or high water...