Word: pavement
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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...northern shore of Palestine's Sea of Galilee lies Tabgha, one of the Holy Land's lushest garden spots. Anciently, scholars believe, it was Bethsaida. It boasts a mosaic pavement and an altar stone, fragments of the Roman church of the Loaves & Fishes which was built to commemorate Christ's miracle on the other side of the lake. To Tabgha in the past 30 years have gone tourists, British officials, archeologists, Bible students, to visit not the Roman relics but the big, blue-eyed, square-bearded monk who discovered them, Father John Tapper...
...foreign Ambassador to the President of the U. S. is usually heavy business, ribboned with red-tape, bound by strictest protocol. But one day last week ribbon and tape went out the White House window when a big black limousine, tagged DPL-I, swung around the little pavement-circle before the Executive wing. Out stepped six-foot, rosy-cheeked Philip Henry Kerr (pronounced Carr), Marquess of Lothian, Lord Newbattle, Earl of Lothian, Baron Jedburgh, Earl of Ancrum, Baron Kerr of Nisbet, Baron Long-Newton and Dolphingston, Viscount of Brien, Baron Kerr of Newbattle and Baron Ker. This 57-year...
London. Early this year beef-eating Yorkshireman John Boynton Priestley, author of best-selling novels (The Good Companions, Angel Pavement), several U. S. stage flops, one hit (Dangerous Corner), stood up to the almighty British Broadcasting Corp., calling it monopolistic and its programs a bore. Fortnight ago BBC commissioned a novel for serial broadcasting, 20 minutes every Sunday. Commissioned novelist: J. B. Priestley. The radio novel, Let the People Sing, was reported to be another cross-sectioning of British life like The Good Companions...
...hour, made a U-turn, drew up beside him as he waddled along the sidewalk. Out stepped a man with a pistol and the morning quiet of the street was shattered by six explosions. Penn, the left side of his body torn up by five slugs, fell to the pavement screaming, "Get me a doctor! Get me a doctor...
Everything is quiet and hot. Figures across the street are walking leisurely. The leaves are still. There's no ripple on the grass. The sun is hot on the pavement. Men are wearing white shirts. It's summer! Vag eaunters across the Yard admiring the seasonal phenomenon, the gregness, the aims,--even Sever Hall. He walks slowly. There's no rush, no appointments, no assignments, not for three and a half months. He lights a cigarette, lets the smoke curl out of his mouth and hang in mid air motionless. No sir, no one could get him to walk fast...