Word: spats
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...crowd did not like Lorenzo Garza but much preferred Armillita, who worked in the decadent style of the imitators of Belmonte and (Lorenzo Garza thought) was not of sufficient worth to exhibit himself mano a mano with El Magnifico in the Plaza de Toros in Mexico City. Lorenzo Garza spat in the sand. Then he drew his sword from underneath the muleta, profiled and lunged at the bull...
...took a hurricane to get Carol Hohen zollern and Magda Lupescu out of Spain. Since the ex-King and his plump Pompa dour fled from Rumania amid a hail of brickbats and the spat of lead against their armored train (TIME. Nov. 25), the Spanish Government has given them asylum but refused to let them push on to Portugal. "I am desperate!" chain-smoking Carol told a London Daily Express reporter. "If I do not get a favorable reply to my application to leave Spain tomorrow, I will go on a hunger strike!" Carol and Magda continued to eat heartily...
...lost by 3,613 votes, and the raging machine contested the election. Inauguration Day (Jan. 13) came & went; still the Democratic machine tools refused to seat Donnell. Democratic Governor Lloyd Crow Stark, furious at his party, stayed on overtime while the case went to the Supreme Court. Citizens everywhere spat disgust at the Democratic legislature; some of it spattered on uncomfortable, friendly Lawrence McDaniel. At an advertising club's satirical dinner (Jan. 31) the chums were asked to pose together. Genial McDaniel was willing; Donnell declined. The chums were chums no longer. Last week the Supreme Court held...
...truck-borne infantry; past 300 motorcyclists; past truck-towed, 37-mm. antitank guns (see cut); past the motor-drawn field artillery; finally veered toward the tank regiments. As he passed the 68th, The Old Man was a barely visible projection above the turret of his tank. His tank whirled, spat back to the reviewing stand. Company D relaxed...
...swarthy, little Magyar, with almond eyes, bristling, black mustache and sensuous lips that spat Hungarian, German, French, English, Italian, Spanish and Russian with the staccato speed of a Browning machine gun, died in Budapest last week. He was 46-year-old Count Stephen Csáky, Hungarian Minister of Foreign Affairs, in whose aristocratic veins flowed the blood of Hungary's unscrupulous, wheedling past. Assured of a career by virtue of birth, Count Csáky became Europe's foremost professional in the art of diplomatic tightrope-walking even after the rope had become a Balkan tangle...