Word: pubs
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Grosset & Dunlap was not bought by a syndicate composed of Random House, Book-of-the-Month Club and Harper, but by a syndicate composed of those three pub lishers plus Scribner and Little, Brown...
...winter they have been written with no coal . . . and in the summer either in a cloud of wasps or (as in the summer of 1944) in a cloud of wasps and a nonstop bombardment by flying bombs. During the raids there was the ever-present anxiety that the local [pub] had been hit, thus cutting the last link with civilization. This anxiety entailed frequent visits to the local to check up on where the last bomb dropped, causing a serious loss in man-hours and a vast expenditure of money which might have gone into war savings...
Page one: Bill Saunders beats up an ex-pugilist bouncer in a pub. Page two: the ex-pug is dead and Bill is chased through the streets of London. Page three: Bill breaks into a room to hide, finds there a pretty salesgirl named Jane, and spends the night with...
...were a little out of his line, but the doctor went to work with Celtic canniness, came up with a report-on Publican Sykes. "He is an upstanding citizen . . . but, I fear, a man with a glass in his eye for business. . . . All the witnesses were customers of his pub. . . . The witch legend is a matter for hooting and disbelief in adjoining Little Waltham. Little Walthamites in road crews assure me they have moved the stone a score of times in as many years. . . . It is my reluctant conclusion that the witch of Scrapfaggot Green is-to be blunt...
Every evening he pushed aside his ledgers and fled to the bars of west London-the Cock, the Crown, the Cheshire Cheese, the Café Royal-where he found his friends Max Beerbohm, Aubrey Beardsley, Yeats, Symons and sometimes his French idol, Poet Paul Verlaine. At the first pub he would order absinthe, then quickly jot down the verses that had swum in his head during the day. That done, he would hurry on to a small, cheap Soho restaurant called the Poland, where he conducted one of the strangest, most fruitless courtships in literary history...