Word: fists
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...gritty ladder. He was a switchman, yardmaster, trainmaster, division superintendent, general manager and assistant to the president. In the tough, hard-working game of railroading he was tougher than anyone else, and worked harder. If his authority was questioned, he frequently settled the argument with his iron fist. Once, months after the event, he decided that a Chicago hotel manager had insulted Mrs. Jeffers. Bill Jeffers walked into the hotel and floored...
...this conference were changing constantly. Hitler himself was generally composed. Every time he really began to get angry or excited, he would quickly get himself under control again. His face was flushed and red, however, and he paced the floor almost constantly, walking back & forth, sometimes smacking his fist into his hand. But of all the participants at all the conferences, the F&252hrer was generally the one who kept his nerves best under control...
...fellow esthetes took their rebellion more strenuously. In a series of sensuous, pagan hymns, Eton-educated Poet Algernon Swinburne (he had been expelled from the Royal Arts Club for laying the members' silk hats on the cloakroom floor and hopping on them) "shook [a] small, trembling fist" at the man he named "the Socialist of Galilee": Wilt thou yet take all, Galilean? but these thou shalt not take...
...heard that cry in Leipzig last week expressed in just those words. The janitor of an apartment house which stood alone in a street of utter wreckage buttonholed me, shook his fist in my face and cried: 'You must tell your people how we've been lied to and betrayed! Every day we see it more and more! Every day we have more and more proof of how those men have ruined us! And they're still fighting, letting us be killed-they'd drag our whole country down to death with them if they could...
...first marathon (490 B.C.) killed the winner, Pheidippides.* But skinny, bandy-legged Johnny Kelley scarcely worked up a sweat last week in the Boston Athletic Association's 49th annual marathon. Trotting briskly down asphalt Exeter Street, he waved a victor's clenched fist to the crowd, kissed his father and wheezed: "Pa, I made it." An oversize laurel wreath kept slipping over his ears...