Word: strode
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Finally rousing himself resolutely, he decided that this lost soul must be educated, and brought back into the fold. He strode to the book-case and pulled down his copy of Jack Frost's "Harvard and Cambridge Sketch Book." After a few moments spent thumbing through the pages, he located the one he sought...
...changed to a black dress. By 7:15 in the evening she was ready. She kissed Anna goodbye and strode with her usual determined gait to the waiting limousine, accompanied by Mr. Early and Admiral Mclntire. They enplaned for Georgia. In the dark morning hours, Eleanor Roosevelt walked into the little white cottage on Pine Mountain. Silent and alone, she went in to her husband...
...Steve Early, the White House secretariat had collapsed with grief. Shortly before 7 p.m. the Trumans, the Cabinet members and other bigwigs gathered in the green-walled Cabinet Room. Harry Truman, not quite at ease, sat down nervously in a brown leather chair. When Chief Justice Harlan Fiske Stone strode in, Harry Truman rose, clasped a Bible between his hands, stood stiffly underneath Seymour Thomas' portrait of Woodrow Wilson. The clock on the mantel stood at 7:08. It took just one minute for the oath to be administered, and Harry Truman, 60, the neat, slim, spectacled man from...
...warm spring night, a lovely night for a stroll. As the Marquis sauntered serenely down the quiet street, two alert carabinieri passed. They sniffed. The rare and mouth-watering fragrance of the Marquis' cigaret was unmistakably American. The carabinieri exchanged an eloquent look, and strode after the Marquis. It is a black-market offense for an Italian in Rome to possess American or British cigarets. Sure enough, the carabinieri found two packs of Chesterfields in the Marquis' pockets. Into the pokey he went, for the night...
...enough to make Richard Wagner turn in his grave. On the great stage of the roofless, littered Cologne Opera House a skinny little doughboy, shrouded in the pretentious livery of Siegfried, sang "Saint Louis Woman . . ." to a buxom, bearded, Brünnhilde. A G.I. strode past, sporting a foot-high Cossack hat of white fur. Romeo, a Matterhorn of meat and muscle, was there, and Juliet, too, her black wig on backwards. One battle-grimed dough-foot had abandoned his bazooka for a slide trombone. Seven pianos were going at once...