Word: lacing
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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...little Irishman (Mickey Walker, onetime welterweight champion) knocked a nice black man (Tiger Flowers) down on his haunches with a smack on the jaw. Up jumped Flowers and began to lace the countenance and torso of Walker with a long left hand in the manner of a man painting a fence. Blood squirted from a gash over Walker's eye. In the ninth round he knocked Flowers down again but the black man, with a grin of ebony, bounced from the canvas and hacked at Walker's snout. The gong ended the tenth. The crowd in the Chicago...
...story of Monet's rise--to fame is one of constant striving for an ideal in the lace of all handicaps. As a soldier in Africa for the first part of his life, and then for many years when he struggled to sell his paintings as best he could he was face to face with that great problem of many an artist, the problem of the empty pocket...
...becomes, at times, a tragic figure, notably at the end of Act II when she prays to the Virgin for strength to keep her Spanish down. A happy ending and retribution follow the return of the gipsy man with the whip for his "woman." Effective staging surrounds this cloud-lace fabric with an air of reality. Also Blanche Yurka can soar to glory on the wings of feeble dialogue. To those not too well acquainted with the ways of the theatre, The Squall will offer two and a half hours of simple, tense make-believe...
...Italian Riviera were inundated. At last the storm veered overland through Tuscany and Emilia to Venice. There the Grand Canal rose until gondolas glided across the Piazza di San Marco-usually as dry as Fifth Avenue, and like that thoroughfare lined with shops de luxe. Venetian vendors of lace, glass and what not, bustled about in two feet of water, rescued floating show cases, were vexed...
...Helen's Babies nothing remains save the dim figure of a kind uncle, and a phrase, "Wants shee wheels go wound." Hector My Dog, Bob Son of Battle, Stviss Family Robinson; even The Jungle Books, the Henty Books, Oliver Optic, Horatio Alger, and Little Lord Fauntieroy's lace collar and filial perfection* where are they? Gone, all gone, yet once the child that knew them not was plainly a barbarian...