Word: inkpot
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...posh nightclub, 300 poets and writers of every political stripe gathered to meet Manuel Avila Camacho over absinthe cocktails, lobster a la Newburg and a succulent melee of chicken, turkey and duck washed down with rare wines. Mexico's querulous intellectuals were being reconciled; the bile of the inkpot was being washed away in the blood of the vine. At the same time they were making the acquaintance, firsthand, of the President who, succeeding to the far-Left regime of Lazaro Cardenas, had led Mexico back to the middle of the road in a new era of "evolution...
...fail to buy the new gowns they would have worn to Londonderry House, with a consequent loss "to the trade" which they set roundly at $500,000. Baffled by Baldwin, Lady Londonderry was expected to return to her pen which has already produced such dainty books as The Magic Inkpot...
From the sidelines in San Antonio, Tex., a broadside called Frente á Frente ("Face to Face")* last week let loose an inkpot of rage against Boss Calles and his henchman Aaron Saenz, Governor of Mexico's Federal District. Its cover was a foot-and-a-half high cartoon of Calles as a redhanded, man-eating gorilla, slavering across a field of skulls (see cut). Its prose, however, was no match for this pictorial violence. One article printed in groping English described a government that could ban the word "God" from the textbooks as "such ossy, ossy, phally, prehistoric boneheads...
...emissary to London. "The French have betrayed their word," they whispered slyly, "They will get a separate peace, and you will get nothing." Dr. Franklin stroked his lace frill with bejeweled chubby fingers and pondered the possibilities of a separate peace. Le Comte de Vergennes toyed with the silver inkpot on his satinwood desk, and tried to fathom the strange actions of his friends the Americans. Even Dr. Franklin received him a bit stiffly, a bit coldly...
...bang! A frenzied mob of students rushed the Foreign Office, burst through hastily locked doors, hurled chairs and toppled desks, charged in wild pandemonium for Mr. Wang. "Traitor!" they yelled. "You have betrayed China! Death, death to Wang!" Before defenseless Minister Wang could rise, a well hurled inkpot gashed his head. Mobsmen with clubs laid on. The Foreign Minister of China was almost beaten then and there to Death, would have been had not his loyal servants flying-wedged the mob. By fierce work and low punching they rescued Mr. Wang, rushed him bleeding to his home. Doctors said...