Word: evens
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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...England "for peace," joined his son Architect Ernst. With him went another son, Lawyer Martin, and his gentle, brown-eyed daughter Anna, a practicing psychoanalyst. In a comfortable London house near Regent's Park, filled with his Greek and Egyptian treasures, Freud answers letters, continues his writing, even treats a few old patients. Every Sunday evening he settles down in the parlor, coddles his five young grandchildren, enjoys a lively card game called tarot with his sons. Always at his call is his nine-year-old chow dog, Lun. During his 16 years of suffering, throughout his 15 operations...
...Shoreham Hotel they waltzed it. The U. S. Marine Band, in Potomac Park, played it straight: Dee deedle dee dum dum, dum dum, dum dum. . . . Dee deedle dee dum dee dum dee dum. . . . Many another orchestra and soloist twanged and blared it. It was even played in Hawaiian style. A local radio station dramatized the life of its author. All this hullabaloo in Washington, D. C. celebrated a work which first took U. S. ears by storm 50 years ago: John Philip Sousa's The Washington Post March...
Last March, with due ceremony, Benefactor Frank presented his streamlined "disaster wagon" to the city. Hordes of Portlanders gaped at its shiny coffee urn, at emergency hospital and surgery paraphernalia, gas masks, water pumps, a two-way radio, portable searchlights, acetylene torches, wrecking tools, respirators, even snowshoes and toboggans for winter rescues...
When the romance begins to wane, when Monk begins brooding over love's "bitter mystery," then not even the most extravagant prophet could anticipate the window-rattling violence and savagery of these lovers' quarrels, the crazed sadism of Monk's accusations, or the deadly criticism that Mrs. Jack shoots back. Because she always comes back for more, however, because they make up from time to time and declare "Was there ever love like ours?" it is a long time before the final parting. Near the end Monk makes his bitterest accusation: "I've lost my squeal...
...Even closer partners in his Wind, Sand and Stars are the pilot and the poet, the mechanic and the metaphysician. Says Author Saint Exupéry: "One doesn't risk one's life for a plane any more than a farmer ploughs for the sake of the plough. But the airplane is a means of getting away from towns and their bookkeeping and coming to grips with reality. ... It plunges a man directly into the heart of mystery...