Word: hating
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...only one thing to do. I flung open the door and went right out into their midst. I put out my hand, saying, 'I am an American, just a plain American, and we're your friends.' One boy looked at me and said, 'You hate Communists?' I said, 'Yes, I hate Communists.' He slashed his hand across his throat as if it were a knife and said, 'My mother, father, sister killed by Communists...
Come cocktail time and she's a little fatigued from the earlier intake. So she takes several pick-me-ups." The worst offenders, she added, are dinner-party hostesses. "The overly hospitable-and, we hate to say it-many of the newly rich-instruct their servants to serve hard liquor with every course." As Editor Deshais hoped, bluebloods kicked up a rumpus over her picture of them as boozebloods. Commented clubwoman Mrs. Earl Kribben, whose husband is a Marshall Field vice president: "Drinking Scotch or bourbon with the main course would be like going to a dinner party...
...groups of two and three hundred, European vigilantes stormed through the city, pillaging and burning native shops, overturning buses. Most vengeful were the Pied Noir (Black Foot), half-breeds of mixed Italian, Spanish and Moroccan blood and Morocco's equivalent of the South's "poor white," who hate the native Moroccans with a fury based on economic insecurity. In the heart of the city, rioters lynched one Moroccan, shot down two others with submachine guns, and clubbed the bodies with gun butts. Yelling "Death to Grandval," one mob, thousands strong, tried to storm the city's office...
...about his cell mate's tale clicked in José's memory, and he brooded over it. He asked Abdias to repeat the dates and places. A fortnight ago, as the two men basked in the prison courtyard sun, José blurted out: "Abdias, do you still hate the man who clubbed you?" Abdias replied philosophically: "No, those are the risks of our trade." With a sigh José unburdened himself: "Abdias, my friend, forgive me. I was on the other end of that club. You are supposed to be dead, and I am serving time for your...
...Jacqueline Roque, a dark-haired, dark-eyed Antibes' woman, fortyish. self-effacing, maternal, and of course lovely to look at-Picasso has no fear of ugliness in art, but he does not appreciate it in women. For Jacqueline Roque's sake, and because he does hate fuss, Picasso passed up last week's festivities in Paris. He was busy settling into an ornate villa, La Californie, overlooking Cannes and the blue Mediterranean...