Word: spill
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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...virtue and stale beer about her to make exaggeration more permissible than understatement. If the blood and thunder seem as pat as they are plentiful in "Hey Rube!" the riot story, that is only because Mr. Tully is a journalist of 0. Henryesque dexterity. Surely irate oil-drillers would spill some of the blood of a short-change artist like Slug Finnerty and a slicker like Slug's boss, Bob Cameron...
...Super-Reporter noted "an old wattled hinterland peasant with gold earrings. . . . The pathetic mourning of the very poor?ragged arm bands made from black petticoats. . . ." He described the 60 coffins at the grey stone gates "under the splendor of flowers, red banners and black streamers." He let Novelist Lewis spill drops of irony on the "oozing" funeral orations: ". . . such measured, useful and reasonable words . . . uttered by bearded and clever men?all of it like a nice debating society...
...Yard cops are powerless. Easier by far is it to move three Packards, twelve Fords, and a baby Renault from the steps of Widener than to move these creatures from the lap of John. They twine febrile arms about him while love clicks the shutter. They spill powder and musk about him while love says, "Dearie, watch the birdie." And like the true gentleman he is, John never grimaces. He merely waits for Monday...
...iron man, whose muscles are stronger than bicycle chains and whose will is a spinning-wheel that never stops, would have shown once more that nobody can beat him. For five days, 23¾ hours, he had almost continuously led the field-then a crash at the corner, a spill over the handlebars, and he lay beside his partner, Linari. The Italian, his shoulder heavily bandaged, was barely able to remount his vehicle, but McNamara shook himself, got up, pedaled the last mile and won the race, 2,286 miles, 146 pedaling hours...
...tune, which orchestras will play all spring, and phonograph records will spill into long summer evenings, and which, in the autumn, the hand-organs will trundle through the streets to burial merits no description. And the words?like the words of "All Alone", like the words of "Remember", like the words of all Mr. Berlin's songs except, possibly "I'm a K. P."?are exactly the words one would expect a waiter in Nigger Mike's Cafe to write, in a trickly moment, on a beer-stained menu, behind the nickelodeon...