Word: paled
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...about somewhere. A year ago it was a sea trip to Newfoundland's Placentia Bay for the Atlantic Charter signing. Then two flights to Washington. Now it was the 10,000-mile trip to Egypt and Moscow. It was a relief this week to Sawyers, Churchill's pale-lashed, nimble little valet, to be back again in No. 10 Downing Street...
...When Congress assembled: "There was nothing to be seen except the hard grey walls of the Capitol, bright and solid in the clear, pale noonday sun. . . . Yet the face of every individual, the faces of all those huddled over the radios, were turned directly toward the towering pillars of the Capitol. There was a churchlike hush, a sullen, angry silence. . . . What was the silence of shock last night, today was the cold, determined hatred of an outraged people. There was something of the tension of a lynching mob, a mob where there are no masks, where each individual is happy...
...wind socks on Delaware's Du Pont airport hung limp and damp. The sun was pale through the heat haze. A plane flying less than 15 ft. off the ground churned through the air toward two uprights, like football goal posts, set up on the airport. Squatting under the plane's line of flight was a glider, tethered to a rope which looped in a big "U" over the two posts and back to the plane. The plane swooped in. hooked the rope. The glider shot aloft, trailing...
Vogue's words could not help seeming pale, irrelevant, almost flippant beside the unspeakable pictures received from Greece last week (see cuts). Yet Vogue's words (in a moving and far-from-flippant article in the current issue) and those of Greek Minister of Information Andre Michalopoulos could supplement the picture in the process of educating the outside world in Axis occupation methods...
...year eleven in the life of a pale, slight, impressionable little bourgeois boy who clung to a servant's hand in the battle-littered streets of Petrograd. Said the servant: "This is the revolution, Mitya." Young Dmitri Dmitrievich Shostakovich only stared and clutched the servant's apron. But what he saw and heard he pondered in his precocious head. Once safe at home, he sat down and composed two pieces: Hymn to Liberty and Funeral March to the Victims of the Revolution. A prodigy and a prodigious event...