Word: lowe
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...downed. Her opponent for the Republican Congressional nomination in New York's farmerish, four-county 29th District was earnest, colorless Lawyer Augustus Bennet. As a Good-Government candidate in 1944, quasi-Republican Bennet had unseated Republican Ham Fish. Mrs. St. George, who takes her Party straight, had a low opinion...
...price. The black market is king. But the strange thing about the black market is that it is not only a phenomenon of shortage but has also become an ingrained, accepted, and sometimes welcome way of doing things. Rationing, with the resulting fair distribution and low prices, cannot work in France. The average Frenchman remains too individualistic and self-centered to appreciate that way of doing things...
...into a minor twitch of the mouth the force of a slug from an automatic. Another is Producer-Director Howard Hawks's fellow feeling for the Chandler world: even on the chaste screen Hawks manages to get down a good deal of the glamorous tawdriness of big-city low life, discreetly laced with hints of dope addiction, voyeurism and fornication. A round dozen minor players help him out with great efficiency- not to mention Miss Bacall, who is like an adolescent cougar...
While Time Remains is an effort to assess the degree of that "unpreparedness" and an inquiry into U.S. relations with the rest of the world. For the most part, Correspondent Stowe writes in lumbering, low-gear journalese ("diabolical idealistic window-dressing to make cannon fodder out of the cream of their countries' youth," etc.), but certain of his assertions are perfectly plain. Among them: 1) the U.S. itself started the atomic armament race with the U.S.S.R.; 2) the U.S. with its concentrated seaboard metropolises could not protect itself as well as Russia, were matters to come to an atomic...
...Time; H. M. Pulham, Esq.) - as viewed in Perelman parody - "Out of these things, and many more, is woven the warp and wool of my childhood memory: the dappled sunlight on the great lawns of Chowderhead, our summer estate at Newport, the bitter-sweet fragrance of stranded eels at low tide, the alcoholic breath of a clubman wafted on the breeze from Bailey's Beach...