Word: sniff
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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...Doyers St., Manhattan, the miserables of the island, unostentatiously mouch along. Drunks muse on the likelihood of panhandling the price of a finger or two of "likker" (anything with alcoholic content). Drug addicts deviously ponder methods of getting another "shot of morph" (hypodermic injection of morphine), or a "sniff of snow" (nasal inhalation of crystalline cocaine). Homeless and friendless they are for the most part, and normally mindful of their own fuzzy, vague affairs...
...cave dwellers and aristocrats of Washington society might lift their lorgnets and sniff the air in silent protest at her capers, but, after all, wasn't she of their own, of a family than which there was none bluer blooded...
...contemplate their sins and repent them. In temples the repentance will be decorous; in synagogues, vigorous. Men will beat their chests and proclaim conventional errors. The very orthodox will pray with covered heads and unshod feet in their humiliation. Children will play with apples spiked with cloves; men will sniff snuff; women will surreptitiously hold vials of heart-strengthening aromatics to noses. Behind screens, separated from the men, will sit the women of orthodox congregations. After their day of fast they must go home to cook the evening meal. (In synagogues of modified orthodoxy women are not screened...
Dogs are expert in judging human quality. With a single sniff at a man's trouser-leg, they determine his social standing; one leap against his chest is enough to inform them of his character. It is more difficult fora man to judge of the excellences of a dog. He requires paraphernalia-ropes, lights, leashes, a specially constructed pen, an exhaustive training; often his fellows gather in great packs to observe his judgments, which they confirm with shrill murmurs or deride with rasping growls. Last week such a display took place in Manhattan at the annual dogshow...
...minds of men now grown to gray hair, which it lacks today? There are thousands, who would like to slip back the years, and go walking with the rest across the yard, and into Memorial. They would like to hear the clatter of the dishes, like to sniff the faint, elusive fragrance of cooking, like to see the dusky waiter come shuffling down the long aisle, miraculously balancing seven plates of food on his arm and only occasionally dropping...