Word: slaughterer
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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Shouts of men, screams of women, and the deep bellowing of a bull deeply wronged, enlivened, last week, the vivacious street life of downtown Madrid. Heartless butchers had wronged the bull by buying and attempting to slaughter him. With daring and originality he had escaped from the slaughter house by leaping out a low window. Now, with tail up and lashing, with head low and small eyes rolling wickedly, he purposed to charge down a street thronging with pre-dinner-time crowds. Stalked fear, reigned panic. Suddenly from the doorway of an office building emerged the great matador* Fortuna...
...been nullified. This is just an initiation, it seems, into the usual proceedings which the election entails and which The College News condescends to elucidate for "poor muddled heads." It merely reduces the number of young ladies with royal complexes to thirty-one who now prepare for the final slaughter. At the queenly "walking" they are put on exhibition before their various coteries of admirers and as succinctly reported in the Bryn Mawr daily, the "possible May Queens walked." The already amazed outsider is informed that "a few days later" the entire college selected six of these thirty-one prospects...
...best steer of the exposition was California Stamp, raised by students at the University of California. It weighed 1,055 pounds, accumulated by feeding on barley, oats, bran & alfalfa. The New Bismarck Hotel, Chicago, paid $2.35 a pound for California Stamp, to slaughter him for its Christmas dinners. Last year's champion fat steer, Rupert B., brought $3.60 a pound on the hoof, highest price ever paid...
...does a Freshman, a subject of disciplinary action: but the bad failures at November are inappropriately called "exceptional," and retribution follows. Often it comes as a surprise. The Sophomore has not the advantages of the Freshman. There is no one to warn, comfort, and command him and the autumnal slaughter of the innocent is consequently widespread...
...house, little red worms leaned out, their slim questioning bodies bowing and writhing from round tunnels, like windows or portholes, as they sensed their purveyor working. He, "Joe" (last name unspecified in despatches), struck at one of the worms with a shovel, cutting him in two. Then, about to slaughter another, he scanned the walls of the house he was building. The walls were alive with tiny reptiles. Sliding out of their tunnels, they came writhing into the grave and slithered about his feet. Ten, 20, 30, he counted, standing in amaze. It was as if the whole world...