Word: sat
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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Behind the massive walnut desk in Richmond's proud, Ionic-fronted Capitol, designed by Thomas Jefferson in 1785, sat florid, heavy-shouldered J. (for James) Lindsay Almond Jr., 66th Governor of Virginia in the line of Jefferson, Patrick Henry, James Monroe, John Tyler and Harry Flood Byrd. He had, he admitted, been under "continuous pressure." Just the night before, he and his wife had been awakened several times by telephone calls: "She'd jump up so I could get some sleep, and I jumped up so she could get some rest. Usually, it meant that both...
...that he heads. When they told McCrackin to come along, he refused to budge. They lifted him out of his car and he refused to walk. So they carried gangling Pastor McCrackin to their own automobile, drove him to the Federal Building, carried him into the elevator (where he sat on the floor), and carried him first into the marshal's office, then into the tax commissioner's office. They carried him back to the marshal's office, where they asked him to sign a form that would enable them to release him temporarily. Again McCrackin refused...
...long before he died, or so the story goes, Eugene O'Neill sat before a fireplace in a Boston hotel room. By nature what the psychological men call a "moody" fellow, O'Neill could scarcely have felt much warmth from the flames. As anyone who has appreciated Joan of Arc knows, fire does have its mystical aspects, and with the help of ever-solicitous Carlotta, O'Neill sat up, grasped a sheaf of papers in his palsied hands and thrust it to the flames. No telling what was in the five plays so carefully dispatched by the man who made...
Smuggler. At Little St. Bernard Pass on the French-Italian frontier, a French priest was refused permission to take 50 bananas into Italy (where the importation of fruit is controlled by a state monopoly), sat in his car and ate 47 of them before giving up, handing the rest to gaping onlookers...
...wood-paneled London office near Covent Garden's clamorous produce market, A. B. (for Arthur Bernard) Clements, 60, editor of the Sporting Life, sat down one morning last week to flip through his mail. As usual, it contained requests for him to arbitrate disputes between British horse-race bettors and their bookies. As usual, Clements prepared a judicious answer to each query...