Word: lacking
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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Marie was a Parisian maid-of-all-work but a country girl at heart. She worked for the Deloses, an avaricious jeweler and his discontented wife, was in love with Babylas, a mulatto chauffeur. Babylas' motives were neither pure nor unmixed: he took Marie for lack of something better, and hoped through her to get at her master's jewels. When Babylas told Marie his scheme she was horrified, carried her fear so openly on her face that M. Delos took it for an invitation and complacently accepted it. Marie, servant and a yes-girl, wrung her hands and said...
Thus, we are having brought home to us a problem which Europe and Asia have been wrestling with for several years past; the lack of opportunity for the young man and young woman who are ready to step out into life an begin work. No doubt, members of graduating classes who are able, and wish to, will go on a year or two more with their studies. They need no advice to do that. The broad question underlying the situation is, however, not susceptible to any such answer...
...almost gleeful surprise, a suppressed soul. So long as his love for Annette burned in his spirit, he could write such great poems as "Tintern Abbey". But the fog of British respectability soon clouded this source of poetic feeling, and after ten short years the fire went out for lack of fuel and encouragement. After that there is nothing. As long as Annette lived he was that poet of "reality" but one his love for her died he saw things only through the smoked glasses of conventionality. From that time on his poetry became a "sustained hypocrisy...
Viewed as anything you like "High Hat" can hardly rank above a noble experiment, Edna Hibbard and Richard Taber, capable as they have in the past proved themselves to be, upon this present occasion suffer from a lack of inspiration. Their best efforts were expended in the first five minutes when they gave a natural portrayal of two people getting up in the morning. Once out of bed they seemed to lose interest in the proceedings. And to lapse reluctantly into the vernacular, the play simply didn't "click...
...engulfed the Vagabond. He could see the shining faces of his school children on vacation. The tender charm of the parental hearth. And he was saddened by the reflection that he had no home other than Harvard. True it was a fine place but there was no denying a lack of homely atmosphere resplendent in the surroundings. No milk-bottles on the back-porch, for instance...