Word: sitting
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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What Will They Talk About? When the President, the Prime Minister and the Premier-Marshal sit down with Pavlov, Stalin's brilliant interpreter who can take English shorthand notes of Russian conversation and vice versa, not they but History will decide the prime agenda of their talk. The course of history for a generation would be influenced by what they said. But as they began the Big Three would be driven no less than lesser men by the compulsions of History-past and History-present. Plainly, the first question which history poses to Franklin Roosevelt and Joseph Stalin...
Against the Elements. A cold, dismal rain drips steadily on American infantrymen slogging through the mud. Snow caps the high hills. On roadsides, in vineyards and olive groves of "sunny Italy," troops snatch much-needed rest. Punch-drunk with weariness, shoulders hunched against the chill wetness, they sit with their feet in the gumbo. Hot coffee is a Waldorf luxury. Wood is too wet to burn. When some anonymous genius discovered that the two wrappings around the K rations would burn just long enough to heat a canteen-cup of coffee, he won the soldiers' undying gratitude...
Gone Again. But by week's end the spell had worn off. Out of WPB came sour reports: Don Nelson was gloomy again about the agency's future, might soon sit down and write another resignation...
...conceded the probability that newsmen would not be allowed to sit at the peace table. Nevertheless, he suggested, let journalists unite, demand a peace treaty clause on press freedom. Specifically, he urged that foreign correspondents be given free and direct access to all the news of all nations, with equal facilities for sending the news to their own countries...
...jammed this pointless paradise that the gross zoomed to $1,500. Now the market does a $2,000 weekly gross, has brought Hart many offers to expand. Last week, he turned them all down. He feels that more stores would keep him too busy, give him little time to sit back, puff at his pipe and chortle at his fellow grocers, sore-eyed, weary-fingered, thumbing over hundreds of stamps through the nights...