Word: lefts
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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Just before Disraeli left the Prime Ministry in 1880 he struck definitely the tone of their correspondence thus: "Lord Beaconsfield, no longer in the sunset but in the twilight of existence, must encounter a life of anxiety and toil; but this, too, has its romance, when he remembers that he labors for the most gracious of beings...
...Jack Sharkey climbed through the ropes last week in Madison Square Garden, Manhattan, to fight "Honest John" Risko, Cleveland "rubber man." Experts had picked Sharkey. So had gamblers. Risko was tough, they said, but Sharkey was tough and fancy. When the bell rang, Risko made Sharkey miss a left, landed a left to the jaw. All through the fight he hooked to the chin and made Sharkey jerk his legs up when he hit him" in the stomach. When the decision went to Risko, Sharkey struck a pose, stared disdainfully at the top balcony. "Yaah," yelled the holder...
...less boarder in Manhattan, took him to Westport to paint the Lawson house, drugged him. Mr. Lawson went out to chat with a neighbor, taking care to establish the fact that he was going back home to spend the evening. Then he set fire to his own home and left for Manhattan. The police were to find the bones of the drugged boarder charred beyond all recognition; Mrs. Lawson was then to collect her husband's $75,000 insurance. But the boarder regained consciousness in time to jump out of a window; and Mr. Lawson went to jail...
Last year and the year before Captain Brown sailed round the world. Every year since he left the trade of the sea he has yachted with his brother Jacob Frederick, reputed world's biggest wool merchant, who flies a Boston Yacht Club flag. Up to his last illness he wrote sea yarns for the Atlantic Monthly, The Bellman. Modest, despite his immense knowledge and creditable learning, he had a quaint way of submitting his salty MSS. to University-bred employees, "just to have a glance over the grammar and syntax...
...Christ and is suffering on the Cross, to the hotel proprietor's wife who, after a life of scrubbed floors and emptied cuspidors, is soother in the arms of death by the kisses of an understanding doctor. The book is sane and almost completely damnatory, but one is left with the thought that, after all, Sherwood Anderson is hopelessly and rather endearingly American...