Word: greenes
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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...apparent that Patty Berg, favorite with sportswriters because of her snub nose, would be only runner-up again. Playing in a faded blue jersey and battered felt hat with tees stuck in the hatband. Mrs. Page was 3 up at the end of 18 holes. Imperturbable, one-putting on green after green. Mrs. Page was 7 up at the end of 27 holes, ended the match three holes later. "It was just my day, I guess," she said...
...came the slump. Apart from Win, er Take Nothing (1933), a volume of short stories, the eight succeeding years saw only two books, both failures. To most readers Death in the Afternoon (1932) was an impossibly verbose testimonial to the author's enthusiasm for the spectacle of bullfighting. Green Hills of Africa (1935) was an exhaustive and exhausting account of a month's big-game shooting, marred by the ill-temper of its gibing digressions on critics and fellow writers. The first had been letdown enough, but in the second it seemed that Hemingway had definitely given over...
Overlooked, however, was the fact that Hemingway is far from being a run-of-the-mine writer, and so not entirely subject to such standards. Disregarded also were certain further clues. Green Hills of Africa, by its very ill-temperedness, hinted that the author, too, was worried. Death in the Afternoon, from one aspect a kind of huge "Anatomy of Death," contains much information on its author's basic philosophy. "All stories," he remarked there, "end in death, and he is no true-story teller who would keep that from you. . . . There is no lonelier man in death, except...
...rate, so it turned out. Scribners took the dud Torrents of Spring, thus securing a bestseller, The Sun Also Rises, as well as all Hemingway's subsequent books. From then on, Author Hemingway was sitting pretty. In spite of the failure of Death in the Afternoon and Green Hills of Africa, his eight books published in the U. S. have sold the respectable total of 280,000 copies...
...opens its clotted mouth to ask for new wounds. Men will fight through; men have tough hearts . . . I see far fires and dim degradation Under the warplanes and neither Christ nor Lenin will save you. I see the March rain walk on the mountain, sombre and lovely on the green mountain. . . . I wish you could find the secure value, The allheal I found . . . The splendor of inhuman things...