Word: moans
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...fifth set at 5-6 and match point in Bell's favor Hunter was throwing up the ball to serve when the Texan, with a faint moan, fell over on his face. Howard Voshell, the referee, carried him to the sidelines, and Hunter's trainer worked for a minute to loosen the cramp which Bell indicated as having stricken his left thigh. The crowd expected him to come out of the club after a rest and go on with the match, but Hunter ended that possibility. Angry, quiet, decisive, he picked up his rackets, threw his white sweater over...
...Manhattan, Miss Adelina Klengenstein and her sister Mrs. Regina Mandelbaum set out together for a wedding feast. On the way, Miss Klengenstein collapsed, was taken to a hospital, died. On hearing of her sister's death, Mrs. Mandelbaum gave a moan, died also...
Most of us can think of a few otherwise intelligent people who are hidebound on the subject of the Younger Generation; professional pessimists who moan and become vehement over the lack of taste and the low standards of the Jazz-mad, Whoopee young people of the day. These pessimists are no doubt permanent fixtures of society, but if they were to glance about with a little more regard for facts and a little loss regard for their own enviable position, the story would be of quite another color; and a color more favorable to the pathetic, abused Orphans...
with the simple explanatory phrase beneath: "A Moan by Marjorie Oelrichs." But no sooner had the story appeared than Miss Oelrichs denied she was its author. Said she: "I have no idea who wrote it. ... But I intend to bring suit against Liberty." More surprised than Liberty readers were Liberty editors, who hastened to deny the truth of her denial. Said Executive Editor Sheppard Butler: "Perhaps Miss Oelrichs has forgotten she wrote the story. We purchased it some months ago." Said General Manager Max Annenberg: "We will sue her . . . only ask minimum damages. We must clear the name of Liberty...
...howls of mournful hopelessness. A long rattling crescendo of protesting crashes, And a great voice shrieking like a lunatic with the Christ bug, And one eager eye squinting into the distance, searching out the red, the yellow, the cool green signal lights. The song of the freight is the moan and the broken cry of a woman dying in a train wreck, The clear sharp challenge hurled at the moon by a lonely defiant farm-dog, A nocturne in an unknown key torn by the wind from the throat of a steam whistle in a nightmare, . . . An all-metal Walt...