Word: ringed
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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...most famous. Its designer, whoever he was, must have dreamed its pattern many times before he dared to record it. Such spraying valleys, such a flight of flowers and beasts, are the speech of a man who loved the world and knew its changing story. Reds ring together like swords clashing in a book; the silver of the hills, mountain greenery, the gold of the sea, blend and flash under the square border where no wind blows, where the genii squat on their haunches, half-gods patient of subjection, waiting without haste for the repose of all things...
Tunney stood up straight, Dempsey came in weaving, bobbing, prowling. He bent his head a little and Tunney's lefts whizzed over. Three of them missed in succession. Incomparably better looking in the ring than Tunney, who was merely handsome, Dempsey leaped forward; he was inside Tunney's guard, a panther striking. Then an amazing thing happened. Tunney held his terrible arms. The referee parted their shoulders and Tunney, with a right and left to the head, backed Dempsey against the ropes, pounded his face, made him shelter himself with wrapping elbows. The gong rang...
...iron voice began its snarling; quick little men, clumsy big men, fought and went away again. Beside the ring sat eight frightened fellows in sweaters. They were referees. When a preliminary fight was to begin, a man sitting behind would lean over and tap one of them on the shoulder. Now he tapped Tommy Reilly. The crowd cheered...
Tunney got into the ring first. Dempsey was coming. You could see a swirl far back in the crowd that drew nearer and nearer as Dempsey moved down the aisle with his handlers and a corps of policemen. He climbed through the ropes-unshaven, hard-muscled, surprisingly thin-and crossed to Tunney's corner. "How are you, boy?" he said. The iron voice announced the weights: "Jack Dempsey, who has defended his title for the last six years. . . ." Loud booing. You bent over to light a cigaret and when you looked up they were fighting...
...Tunney had it. Two gentlemen on the other side of the ring agreed to that as well. All through the fight they took turns talking, apparently to themselves; an inconspicuous microphone in front of them carried their gabble verbatim to many million people. They told how the rain, just a sprinkle as the fighters got into the ring, grew harder; how Dempsey kept weaving in, pawing at Tunney with fierce, ineffective blows; how people spread newspapers over their knees and passed bottles from hand to hand; how Tunney outboxed Dempsey, poked him off with wary blows, closed his left...