Word: reader
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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Professor Copeland's two audiences--those who enjoy his personal acquaintance and that large and increasing number which knows him only by reputation and through the delights of the recent Copeland Reader--will join in wishing him the briefest of absences from Hollis Hall. A sabbatical year, is soon to deprive the college of one of the few men whose mere personality has bequeathed on him the honor of being "an institution." Therefore any of his further withdrawals from the Yard are to be watched with jealous scrupulation...
...Crimson recommends to Professor Copeland during his convalescence, a book possessed of the most delightful of bedside manners--the Copeland Reader...
...nothing with such women! (I know from experience-but that is another story.) I warn you that if I ever find a fake TIME reader on the elevated here, he will be in the subway of some cemetery when I am finished with him. ROLF MARTIN BRUSH...
...very moment her dancing wins applause. She marries an artistic wanderer, who then dies. At home she finds Julia also a widow. They settle down to an earnest sisterly tussle for admiration and happiness, envy matching envy with competitive malice. Julia still has money and looks, so the reader's sympathy is meant to go to crippled, homely, honest Elena. But Elena is more shrewish than shrewd. Her experiments with new religions are wan and woeful. The backgrounds -Manhattan, Italy, unnamed places -are nebulously uninteresting, taking the edge off such intensity as Authoress MacConnell and her characters may possess...
...reader cannot help but be carried if he take any delight at all in apt phrases applied to gestures and expressions or if his sympathy responds to the semi-tragic aspects of homely irony. As a whole, however, "Tomorrow Morning" belongs to the class of modern biographical novels, clinging helplessly to chronology for their structure and unity that try, in a strained way, to reconcile the contradictions of life. Unwilling or unable suggest philosophical standards and apparently indisposed to endorse, with a whole heart, the futility of things, they feebly press the conclusion that solace lies only in the passing...