Word: jacked
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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...good summer substitute. Played with a 31-lb., lignum-vitae ball (weighted on one side to give it bias), the object of the game is to throw the ball (called "bowl") down a narrow green to land as close as possible to a previously thrown white ball (called "jack"). Although most good lawn bowlers play at clubs where velvet smooth greens have been coddled for years, many a rip-roaring bowling match has taken place on a private lawn. Scoring is similar to that of horseshoes. Sets (four pairs of bowls and two jacks) range in price from...
...primarily an embryologist, whose chief scientific work was done with such material as the eggs of the sea squirt and of a little mollusc named Crepidula. But he got his start in science before extreme specialization was as fashionable as it is today. So he is something of a jack-of-all-biology. Perhaps for the same reason he has the kind of extra-level head which men who are not specialists sometimes have. No dodo, despite his amiable nature, he has a merry tongue which articulates scientific problems with what the contemporaries of his younger days called witticisms...
...Heart's centre" of the story is petite, passionate Mrs. Esther Jack, a stage designer with a grown daughter and a nebulous husband somewhere in the Park Avenue background. Hero is not Eugene Gant but a presumably new character named George ("Monk") Webber. Unlike Eugene, he is of medium height, pug-nosed, simian-shaped. His antecedents are carefully different from Gant's. But no disguise will hide a Thomas Wolfe hero...
Pacing up & down in Mrs. Jack's "workshop" in Greenwich Village, Monk sings, makes strange gurglings, stares out of the window, suddenly emits an ecstatic "goatlike cry of joy." Whereupon they join in wild cavorting, break off to eat the lunch which she comes each day to prepare. At times Monk speaks as follows: "Can I devour you? Can I feed my life on yours, get all your life and richness into me, walk about with you inside me, breathe you into my lungs like harvest, absorb you, eat you, melt you, have you in my brain, my heart...
...romance begins to wane, when Monk begins brooding over love's "bitter mystery," then not even the most extravagant prophet could anticipate the window-rattling violence and savagery of these lovers' quarrels, the crazed sadism of Monk's accusations, or the deadly criticism that Mrs. Jack shoots back. Because she always comes back for more, however, because they make up from time to time and declare "Was there ever love like ours?" it is a long time before the final parting. Near the end Monk makes his bitterest accusation: "I've lost my squeal" -meaning...