Word: queues
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...requirements by the end of 1947." Mrs. Ivy Lee, a young London matron, understood what that meant. She said: "A good thing I didn't give away my little boy's push pram-looks like coming in handy again this winter, if we have to queue for a few pounds down at the old coal wharf...
...join the queue outside the Kremlin and shuffle your way in through the red marble portals of Lenin's tomb, you automatically take your hat off. . . . You have been visiting a shrine. . . . Communism is now a fully fledged religion which claims to be of universal application. . . . It has a tremendous literature of commentary and exegesis, and all the usual saints and martyrs and heresies. . . . It is rigidly orthodox and highly fanatical. . . . And this . . . religion has really got a grip on the world...
Before sunup one day last week, the queue started to form in front of Barry's Jewelry Store in Glendale, Calif. By noon, when the doors opened, there were 3,000 in line. Waiting for them were twelve regular and eight extra clerks, one uniformed policeman, one private detective. Waiting, too, were electric clocks, cigaret lighters, liquor sets-18,500 items in all. Retail value ran from $2 to $50. But for each item the price was only 18?, in honor of Barry's 18th anniversary...
...queue spirit is extending into every phase of British life. Sports, food, clothing, politics, the Government's efforts in the economic crisis are all affected by the popular insistence that if anyone is to be miserable, everyone must be equally miserable. In a country where inequality has been and still is crass and pronounced, this is perhaps a natural tendency. But it is nonetheless inhibiting to national and individual effort, and it is already justifying and concealing innumerable small invasions of personal freedom. Britons have given up most of their economic freedoms and seem intent on abandoning the remainder...
Revived, Mrs. Chimes broke up two small orange crates (cruelly labeled "Sunkist") and kindled a puny blaze in her stove. She went to the icy window, peered down the street in the hope of a glimpse of her husband. Unemployed now, he had gone out ahead of her to queue up at the greengrocer's for a few potatoes. Mrs. Chimes turned to her tiny kitchen and a pile of clothes awaiting washing. She sighed...