Word: crisp
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...Donald never "went Chinese." And in 1940, after Hitler attacked Britain, the speeches he wrote for the Generalissimo became more & more anti-German. One night the Gissimo sent back a speech with a message: "I'm not at war with Hitler." Donald returned it with a crisp note: "I am." After that, despite Mme. Chiang's intercession, Donald thought it best to leave China...
Last week 21 Zerbe paintings were on view in a Manhattan gallery, and a Boston gallery displayed the work of 31 Zerbe students and twelve of his admirers. Manhattan critics went overboard for Zerbe's crisp, quiet cityscapes, still life jam-packed with unlikely objects, sombre circus pictures, and portraits in costume such as Aging Harlequin (see cut). According to the New York Times, the show was like "a crescendo roll of drums . . . puissant, clear, resourceful, uncluttered." As technical fireworks, each painting had proper sparkle. Did any of them also "mean anything"? Said Zerbe complacently: "If you are bright...
...Vito's eight year hammer lock on his district had begun to slip. His grip was partially loosened in the August primaries, when he won the Democratic nomination by a mere 562 votes and lost the Republican nomination to ex-A.A.F. Colonel Frederick V. P. Bryan, a crisp and confident lawyer. In his last two campaigns Vito had won both primaries, and that in the Red-rimmed American Labor Party to boot...
Rifle butts hammered a midnight tattoo on hundreds of doors. Into the cold, dark streets poured nearly a thousand Jews, many of them in thin nightdress. For more than an hour they shivered in the crisp air while soldiers ransacked their homes, threatened with clubbed rifles any who protested. Ten foreign correspondents were whisked from the scene to the headquarters of a ruddy-faced, blond-mustached lieutenant colonel, who told them their presence was "embarrassing" to his men. The colonel called the Jews "'a despicable race," said (according to one report): "You know our boys sometimes use the butts...
...month which wanes tonight has verged on sheer poetry of line and hue and motion. Why doesn't Harvard College distill the riotous reds and gleaming golds, the crisp dawns and the slanting sunlight of swift-shrouding evenings...