Word: loves
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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Peace. Strong on defense, Britain and France seemed weak on surprise. Neither gaunt Mr. Neville Chamberlain, taking his after-breakfast stroll as usual, nor serious M. Daladier, had the talent, training, or freakish love of shock to plan a move of the sort that Hitler had made. As profound gloom settled over the capitals of Europe-in Moscow, belatedly, as well as in Berlin-some great stroke of unprecedented originality, some inspired action unlike any that diplomatic history had known, seemed called for to answer Hitler's. But the imaginations of peace were not productive. Memories of Munich, when...
Long-limited, long-sinewed crew men row during the fall and winter to develop form and stamina for the gruelling spring schedule. When ice-breaking becomes too hazardous for the frail prows of the Crimson shells, Coaches Harvey Love and Bert Haines bring their charges indoors in Newell to practice in the tank...
...little Lambs worshiped their forceful mother who ruled over vast, anarchic Melbourne House. Order-loving Lady Granville, in an exasperated moment, described it as "that great ocean, where they wander about all day and sleep about all the evening; no meal is at a given hour, but drops upon them as an unexpected pleasure." In that matriarchy, the strikingly handsome, tall, dark-eyed, sensual, clever, positive, realistic Lambs horse-played and horselaughed at delicacy and romance, ate prodigiously, fell asleep and snored, shouted their arrogant opinions, cursed loud and long. Yet they had immense love of life, good humor, adroitly...
Caroline Lamb was one of the first live, romantic heroines, but the robust Lambs did not believe in heroines or romance. They laughed at her. Privately they called her "the little beast." Even William liked to regale her with his old love affairs. Soon Caroline had a lover, Sir Godfrey Webster, coarse, handsome and ostracized. But Sir Godfrey called it off at the time a new waltz, Ach du lieber Augustin, was sweeping England and a jam of carriages was bearing invitations to the door of a young Lord who had just published a book called Childe Harold...
Lady Falkland, after her husband's death, imagined that Byron (he had never seen her) was in love with her. She thought the women mentioned in his poems were herself. Her sons, Lucius and Plantagenet, shared her delusion. She wrote: ''Surely I cannot be mistaken! Byron, my adored Byron, come to me ... tell me, my Byron, if those mournful tender effusions . . . to Thyrza . . . were not intended for myself...