Word: spurted
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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...Crimson held a lead of 1 1-2 to 1 at the beginning of the fourth chukker, when the 51st Brigade started a scoring spurt and counted five times to Harvard's twice before the whistle blew, thus bringing the score up to 6 1-2 to 6. In the remaining chukkers, however, the clever play of the Crimson reserves asserted itself, and the game was stored away in the fifth period...
Perhaps the task of self-effacement is made easier by the fact that the lion's share of the play goes to her husband. Mr. Lunt is the "Meteor", the egoistic genius who, in his spurt of overwhelming success, ruins the lives of all about him. Never has he given a more powerful performance, never displayed so artistically, his uncanny instinct for attack and transition. A long speech in his hands never becomes boring. Each new thought that forms in the character's head is projected definitely by changes in his voice, in his body, and his face...
...brilliant last minute spurt, the University soccer team won its second game in as many starts on Soldiers Field Friday afternoon by downing Syracuse...
When the Revolution was at its height, the Gazette took due notice of battles, in despatches, letters. When the Declaration of Independence was signed, the Gazette was the only newspaper to print its text in full. With a spurt of news instinct, Editors Dixon and Hunter once announced on the front page: "For London news, see last page." Such back-paging, however, lasted but a short while. Soon Gazette readers were again being entertained by "The Assyrian Practice of Marriage," "Present State of Algiers," "Advices from Petersburg...
Elizabeth B. Dewing is the philosophical, rusty-haired lady who returned, with My Son John in 1926, to something of the spurt of fame she made as Painter Thomas Wilmer Dewing's precocious daughter, who, at 23, wrote and published A Big Horse to Ride (1911). In the interim she married, bore two daughters, divorced. Lately she lost her second husband, a Dane, to Death. She tells her stories with warm, effortless naturalism but suffers, like so many sincere writers, from a too great dependence on platitudes in dialog...