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Transferred to the household of the Privy Councilor Menshikov, Marta soon became "a part of the gay, foul pageant of the Muscovite demimonde." She endured with patience Menshikov's orgiastic embraces and downed her vodka with his roistering friends, glass for glass, without losing a shred of dignity. She could sit placidly through wild banquets where the big joke of the evening might be a string of boiled mice slyly hidden in the cabbage soup, a trick that made some of the revelers vomit on the floor-"which capped the joke though it made things slightly unsanitary...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Books: Russia's First Catherine | 7/9/1945 | See Source »

...even if true, this was little consolation for civilians. They wanted soldiers to have all the cigarets they needed. The merest shred of comfort came from S. Clay Williams, board chairman of potent R. J. Reynolds Tobacco Co. To a Senate investigating committee, he confessed that even he had to walk more than a mile for a Camel...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: And Then There Were None | 12/25/1944 | See Source »

...week was China's Premier-though his every action as chief of civilian and foreign affairs must have the Generalissimo's watchful approval. In the task of coordinating and streamlining government, stepping up production, promoting constitutional reform, healing the breach between political factions. T.V. would need every shred of his talent for administration, negotiation, compromise, and plain getting-things-done...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: CHINA: T.V. | 12/18/1944 | See Source »

...Bricker, old-line Republicans . . . Dewey young, but only physically. ... All wanting to go back to '29. Not one of them realizing what even the most stupid man in the street knows: that these are new times, enlightened times, progressive times. Not one of them with even a visible shred of social consciousness...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Letters: Paper Warriors | 1/18/1943 | See Source »

...soup in his path and the wrath of its owner who could imagine even more pleasant things that delicious minestrone in his lap. But the gushing curses faded into an incredulous stare. The Vagabond was breathing heavily--"inhale, exhale." "It's unfair," he murmured, the paper already a twisted shred. "It's inhuman," he howled, glaring with bloodshot eyes at his awestruck companion...

Author: NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED | Title: THE VAGABOND | 5/22/1942 | See Source »

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