Word: hotly
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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...Bristol, first stop, where the good citizenry served tea to the foot-weary marchers and where pretty girls coaxed the younger marchers to trip a measure of jazz dancing with them. Later, the rolling kitchen got busy and soon after night fall a one-legged war veteran was serving hot food to the cry of "roll up"-the equivalent of the U. S. "come...
...course, this is just his personal opinion, and doesn't appear in the stories he writes. Hot tips on "dark-haired Woburn boys" and "phantom half backs" are his specialty, but while his typewriter is busy clicking off these potent concoctions. Ted is not very much fooled, and casual observers may note a bulge in his left cheek as he builds a second string tackle and third string guard with a "likely-looking monkey wrench in Yale's classy juggernaut...
...sleep--in the good old cradle daze later entertained, diverted, but seldom amused, by stories of Harvard men, or further concerning Harvard men. I say we have not been amused: perhaps that is a trifle strong Whenever the story teller speaks as if his mouth were harboring a hot potato and says that in the way they talk around Boston, we laugh. That is only natural. But we also assume Harvard to have undergone adaptation to environment. A Harvard men must say "car" like a sheep with a cold in its nose, we think, simply because he likes to. Such...
...with music." She grew up in a Southern town, a town in which the strong rhythms of life were matched against a cold and dreadful rhythm of decay. There were three men who came to her house, listening to the dark music of her instrument, bringing with them some hot beauty from life. "Conway calling alone would talk of himself, sitting happily in the dim light of the parlor and enjoying his heightened self, his ease, his good looks, Theodosia's beauty, all the delights of remembered being. . . . Albert would come heavily into the parlor although his feet were...
...pigtails stiff as taffy sticks. Editha Fleisher was Hansel, just ragged and happy. There was a real witch with matted gray hair and a nose like a spigot who rode on her broomstick way into the sky and ate little children. There was a gingerbread house and a red-hot oven where plop ended the witch pushed by wee Gretel just too stupid to get in herself. "Hocus pocus. . . ." Children loved it. So did grown-ups who quite forgot the tawdry Violanta of early afternoon...