Word: strayed
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Outside the world is swaying in a light and airy rhythm. The swank blues and mousey grays of Central Square hoyer by; gay bucks and their plebeian maids are on the shabby avenue, tempting one to stray abroad. The Vagabond, pigeon-breasted from long days at his books, expands his lungs, and plunges into the indescribale subway entrance. There, his stick and gloves, his shining topper, are the center of a half-awed admiration. He enters the car like a fairy prince swirling away in his coach; even the guards bow and scrape like tousled sycophants...
Thirty tons of sand and several large steel plates will furnish backing for the targets and insure against stray bullets, while wooden planking, furnished by the H.A.A. will block off the range from the rest of the district underneath the Stadium...
...replied, "it's such a nice day I'd rather walk." She left. Mr. Coolidge sat talking with Secretary Ross-about the Plymouth place, last year's partridge shooting, hay fever. He strolled to the kitchen to get a drink of water. He put a stray book neatly back into the case. He evened up pens on the desk. He idly fingered a jigsaw puzzle with his name on it. He went "down cellar," watched the furnace man shovel coal. About noon he disappeared upstairs, presumably to shave, as so many New Englanders do about midday...
Reaching far underneath a bed for a stray sock tossed there by its owner, Mrs. E. Adelbert Jacobson, a maid in one of the Houses, ventured to speak a piece of her mind in an exclusive CRIMSON interview yesterday morning. "Now take this here sock," Mrs. Jacobson commented, "thrown way under here out of my reach, what do those boys think I am a lost and found department. Why, the work I have to do to keep these rooms in order! My lands, you'd think a cyclone had hit it every morning. Pajama tops here, and the bottoms...
...minute dashes for the New Lecture Hall for History 1 lectures, not enough light enters the old windows to make it adequate for a good examination room. The janitor will not allow people to wander over the building because he fears they may be careless enough to let some stray cigarette ash fall on her floors and set her in flame, but a moment of grace is granted for viewing her dusty roots. In the heat of the old basement one discovers the remains of the old laundry wringers, now rusty with age. There are stacks of chairs which once...