Word: greatly
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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...sorry to say that I look toward the future with great concern. We cannot ignore the fact that according to von Seeckt's theory,* motorized German shock troops leaving Aachen at 8 p. m. could be at Brussels at 5 a. m. the next day without having met Belgian troops. . . . The population as a whole has behaved well except youths, who, apparently incited by their schoolmasters, resorted to tricks that impelled me to abandon riding or marching through the streets...
...when the last Prussian troops marched out of Paris, crowds of bourgeois housewives expectorated lustily. Great bonfires of straw were burned to "purify" the Place de la Concorde. From German Aachen (Aix-la-Chapelle) and Coblenz the last Belgian and French troops marched out last week. There were bonfires on the Rhine hillsides, but no expectoration. Rhinelanders waited until the last troop trains had gone, then young folk danced in rain wet streets, old folk breathed an earnest Gott Sei Dank! The Second Zone of Allied Occupation was free...
...kingless Kingdom of Hungary is still a country of great landed estates in the hands of a few very wealthy men. Far more than cash does the ownership of even a few acres of land bring prestige to a Hungarian peasant. "Land hunger," greed to increase their holdings by hook or crook, is a besetting vice of the Magyar. Fear lest their acres should have to be subdivided is one reason why Hungarian landowners seldom have more than one child. Tenant farmers are notably more prolific...
...ministrations. Unfortunately mothers often died as well. One day Mrs. Fazekas saw a fly sip from a saucer in which was a sheet of arsenical flypaper, drop dead. She saw a chicken eat the fly and drop dead in turn. Mrs. Fazekas pondered these interesting phenomena, then ordered great quantities of flypaper from neighboring villages...
Victory. Soviet troops had advanced more than 200 miles into China's great Northern Province of Manchuria on two fronts (TIME, Dec. 2). Last week there should have been bonfires, triumphant parades, lusty bellowing of the Internationale in Moscow's vast Red Square. Instead, ghostly silence. Only the usual detail of Red Army sentries stood guard, their white breaths fuming in the frosty air, their close-fitting helmets exactly the shape of fat onions rampant, pointed upward. Suddenly the Prime Minister of the Soviet Union, Comrade Alexis Rykov, appeared, striding across the Red Square in his old leather overcoat...