Word: plaining
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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...incentive Tilden could ask for. ... He had his back, at last, where he liked to have it, against a metaphorical wall. Unfortunately, the grass-stain on his flannelings was not metaphorical; and he had-could one believe it?-a perfectly literal limp. He had hurt himself. That was the plain prose...
When he came 'back after the rest period he had a plain prose bandage on. He won the first and third games, lost the fourth and, after a heartbreaking struggle, the fifth. The sixth game of this fourth set was easy for Lacoste. And he had a lead in the seventh when Tilden started to play cannonball services. Placements boomed like round-shot. The gallery rocked and roared. Now he was off. He would keep on, he would snow the Frenchman under, he would...
...this quiet account* of his doings, Digger Andrews makes plain what a sizable undertaking it has been. Other scientists pooh-poohed the notion of fossils lying in one of the globe's most desolate wildernesses. Travelers said that no fleet of Dodge, or any other, cars could go where even camels limp. China teemed with soldiers and brigands. Drought and sand storms were growing yearly worse. . . . But the Dodges pulled again. Urga was reached and passed again and again. Heady preparations, an invaluable caravan chief and keen diplomacy made life not merely possible but enjoyable. Good humor, good sportsmanship...
Hunger was a huge irony, to a man with broken jaws. Rain set in and he cupped his hands, slaking off some of his delirium. Planes droned overhead, at intervals, but from their sound it was plain that the wrecked Curtiss racer was invisible from above. Flyer Bettis eyed the downslope of the mountain and started creeping on his three good members, with a limp thing dragging over the windfalls. At clearings he would pull himself erect and hop along from tree to bush, every jolt costing him a groan. At seven o'clock by his watch he heard...
Outside of Plain Dealing, La., little dun dogs peered through slack, seamy, deep-set eyes, sniffed eagerly. Five hundred and two armed men followed. They shook trees, stuck sticks up hollow logs- suddenly licked parched lips as the hounds began to whimper. They were looking for Judge Powell, Negro. Fool, he had slain Sheriff Dooley. Now they had found him. He whimpered as the hounds leapt about him, yelped. He cowered in the cotton field. Guns spat. He shrieked, groaned, died. Little dun dogs closed in, sniffed eagerly. At Wytheville, Va., last week gentry stormed the county jail; shot Raymond...