Word: drank
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...very old and the very young. He got used to staying in the kitchen-dining-living room; it was the one room with a fire. He played the radio incessantly; it was "grand to hear, music again." Evenings, he and Lily visited "The Post House" across the street. He drank beer-"I still like my mild and bitter"-but his wife celebrated extravagantly with double whiskies...
...Duke of York's beaten 6,000 who got back to England were ridiculed, Wellington made his first speech in two years: "They were not objects of contempt to the enemies of their country." In his camps in India he read constantly, kept on the move, ate frugally, drank little.* His officers, up at 4:30, drank a cup of tea before daylight, breakfasted in their overcoats on a table before Wellington's tent, and then set out on the day's march, the Duke riding on the dusty flank...
...soldiers, shuffling aimlessly homeward, queued up wherever Allied operations might offer a day's work and a square meal. Fighting was out of the question for most. In Sorrento and in other picture-book resorts tucked away around the Bay of Naples, wealthy, well-dressed Fascists ate and drank abundantly of black-market goodies, frowned at rambling U.S. and British officers seeking respite from battle...
Dour, diffident Henry Morgenthau Jr. sat in the House Ways & Means Committee room one morning last week munching raisins. Beside him also munching raisins sat his chief tax expert, small, dun-colored Randolph Paul. Now & then they both drank water from a cone of paper cups piled beside a big water jug, while a battery of grey young Treasury experts, without benefit of raisins and water, periodically scrabbled for documents in accordion-sized brief cases. Morgenthau & Co. needed their vitamins: they had been up most of the night before, putting the finishing touches on the Treasury's recommendations...
...even whirlwind Hope himself, then flew ahead of him to North Africa and Sicily, growing larger as it went. Like most legends, it represents measurable qualities in a kind of mystical blend. Hope was funny, treating hordes of soldiers to roars of laughter. He was friendly-ate with servicemen, drank with them, read their doggerel, listened to their songs. He was indefatigable, running himself ragged with five, six, seven shows a day. He was figurative-the straight link with home, the radio voice that for years had filled the living room and that in foreign parts called up its image...