Word: knife
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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...holidays every week for slaves, that an army was coming from France to make their masters obey. There was thunder in the sky above the woods, ". . . and, as if born of the darkness and storm, a giant Negress appeared in the midst of the crowded open space. A long knife gleamed wet in her upraised right hand, her naked body was streaked with rain." In August of 1793 Boukmann's rebellion started; a few days later it was over, the blacks had been beaten, a few of the proud houses had been burned to the ground. Henry Christophe watched...
...fool visitors-all these people with their stiff faces and their blind, secretive eyes, sharing also with their no less sly, no less secretive models the total inability to escape destruction, became puddles or streams of burning wax. Lindbergh looked brave no longer, a murderer lowered the frail knife which he had held so long in a poised and useless threat. All this frail company of famous people dwindled, slipped, leaned and perished into a huge and hungry flame. The owner of the Eden Musée, one Gumpertz, was away in the South. Firemen came, the manager...
...nephew, danced with him and kissed him, the man watched it and was happy. When she ran off to "park her girdle" he was made flabby with enjoyment. When a perfume was described as "one of the six best smellers," when a person was described as "the knife of the party," when nephew salutes uncle with, "Hello Epsom, old salt!" the man's guffaws annoyed his grouchy neighbors. He was panting at the finish, with joy, for the nephew was going to marry the girl, the absurd female cinema censor was going to marry a Jewish cinemaker...
...That knife", and he pointed to the sheath in his stocking. "It's a Scotch ornament, or," and he scowled ominously, "for reporters who are not careful of the truth. I don't like reporters and I don't receive even the big ones, but I like to encourage young fellows on down the road. I suppose I am by now the old generation, and my ideas are different but the Scotch of me is still there, and my heart is right...
Father Tacchi-Venturi, upon raising his eyes from his papers, saw a pale, demented face and a hand which grasped a slender, dagger-like paper knife. Quick, the assassin sprang. Quicker, the Jesuit dodged. As a result the knife barely lacerated the neck skin of Father Tacchi-Venturi. Meanwhile the sleepy porter had valorously collared Signor De Angelis...