Word: strands
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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...unable to hold his own temper? Could the brilliant and tender Quaker who rebuilt human Belgium and France, who rebuilt and re-established the lives of the families of his late enemies, be an angry man? Could the untiring diplomatist and spiritual servant who never let one strand of his delicate relationships between militarists and nationalists and intriguers, drunk warlords and war-led, sadists, sentimentalists, victors and victims be endangered by his own indignations-could that be a man given to the passion of anger? . . . You might as effectively speak of an angry Lincoln or an angry Christ himself...
...writer is open to criticism on the score of not delineating sharply his secondary Characters. He uses Tolstoi's method of gradually filling in personality as the plot unravels and the strand of one character's life crosses and re-crosses that of another. In this he is not uniformly successful. But his drawing of Andrew, a complete individual who slowly falls in love with Greta, the wife of the rough, romantic Sandy, and his picture of Sandy himself are full-bodied and living...
...Have three good-looking young girls walking in single file, tolling school bells and carrying a Werewolf banner. They will sound a curfew for all who would be careful to avoid werewolves. The sign reads: . . . 'Bar Your Doors. Lock Your Windows. Go to the Strand...
...when Sculptor Epstein was 28, it was the 18 enormous nudes symbolizing the life of Man which he erected across the front of the British Medical Association building in the Strand...
Suddenly the little groups coalesced into one big one, which rushed the theatre. First fists flew. Then blackjacks. Policemen's nightsticks thudded in the dark. Growing momentarily, the crowd surged down the street to the Strand. Crash! Down came the advertising displays. Back & forth between the Strand and the Palace shuttled the mob. Someone had a crate of eggs. Others bombarded the police with hard cinders, soft, squashy fruit. Badgered policemen drew their pistols, spattered the pavement with bullets. Perhaps students, too, had pistols. One bullet ricocheted into the leg of Edward Nabors, 36, as he skirted...