Word: gloatings
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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Unfortunately, we cannot gloat upon our record thus far, we pass over the events of the last week with a sigh of regret and sob for those who are lost to us. We turn towards the future as relieved as the player who gets a new lease of life after the loaded bases have been emptied by a timely home-run into the right-field bleachers after a long period of suspense. Now we face a new batter and can stand afresh. We have a fine opportunity in the rally tonight to warm up our voices in preparation...
...There are a goodly percentage of TIME readers, naturally inclined to solve puzzles, rebuses, who would gloat over your Quiz. Another big percentage, denied sufficient time in their educational years to get what the Quiz practically supplies, would be able positively to lift themselves by their boot straps. Yet it seems to me (a three-score-and-ten-year man, generally placed in the all-round category) somehow out of place or not dovetailing in with your plan and scope...
...same issue you took the space, though, to portray and illustrate with a photograph closely resembling the missing link, the prowess of one John Lester Johnson-as if that were of prime importance. Instead of giving all of the worthwhile news of the world, you seem to gloat over the fact that the said Johnson knocked out the teeth of a taxicab operator who happened to incur his displeasure-thereby showing your true colors-catering to the lowest animal instinct-brute force...
...finished, those who have not. At such a time the great mediaeval problem of distinguishing between the saved and the damned resolves itself into a simple matter of time. Already the great trek, the annual hegira, the exodus, the migration, the wholesale flight from Cambridge has begun. Happy youths gloat over and display to friends long yards of tickets to the mountains, to the lakes, to Europe (including Paris), to anywhere--it doesn't matter much--so long as the passage reads "from Cambridge...
...Lima. At least they say it is he?the shriveled corpse in a glass coffin, scaled these four centuries, with a foot hacked off, a hand gone, a slash in its throat. For a few pesos, the monks of the cathedral will take you into the dusky chapel and gloat, while you stare, at the mummy-like remains in black vestments.* They will tell you, old hatred burning beneath their derision, that this shrunken carcass was once the Conqueror of Peru, the boisterous cattleman from Panama, who sailed home to Spain and had himself made Viceroy of New Castile...