Word: sullenness
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...Mussolini's personal fascination is accompanied by a sense of distance between him and his followers. . . . He is not a 'good fellow.' While he is not sullen, he is withdrawn. He is not a handshaker. Hence the impulse to substitute [for handshaking] the Roman salute. . . .All these gifts have won a crown for Mussolini; guarantee his omnipotence; render it as beneficial as a Dictatorship...
...Sullen Frau Charlotte Juenemann, though with child, had her head struck off in Berlin last week. Notorious since her arrest early this year as the "World's Meanest Mother," Frau Juenemann let her three young children starve to death in a cellar while she spent her last few marks making the rounds of Berlin's cheaper night clubs. Since Herr Juenemann is in an insane asylum, Germany's New Justice assumed that her unborn babe would be a debit to the race...
...sick for sleep, Through the long watches that no time can measure, When I drove him, deafened and choked and blind, At the wavetops cut and spun by the wind; Lashing him, face and eyes, with my displeasure. " VI I opened him all the guile of the seas - Their sullen, swift-sprung treacheries. To be fought, or forestalled, or dared, or dismissed with laughter. I showed him worth by folly concealed, And the flaw in the soul that a chance revealed- (Lessons remembered-to bear fruit thereafter.) VII "I dealt him power beneath his hand, For trial and proof, with...
...class-soliarity and class-feeling," what can you expect from the "class" for which these men in general speak? Where is the solidarity of a group which finds expression in phrases ranging from the impassioned idealism of Mr. Poor, through the mawkish benevolence of Mr. Smith, to the sullen bitterness of Mr. Sweetser, the disgust of Mr. Bach, and the hard-boiled cruelty of Mr. Scott? One might feel that this diversity was simply the fecundity of health if it were not that in every case the atmosphere is strained and the tension obvious; even Mr. Poor is noticeably...
...party put up a snow-block hut, settled down for its third winter in the North. From an old newspaper wrapped around some of the supplies cached at Cape Sabine they first learned of President Garfield's death more than two years before. But by that time the sullen, hungry, miserable men could think and talk of little except meals they had eaten, restaurant menus they had seen. Each soldier was limited to a few ounces of food per day, except for double rations to one whose hands and feet were frozen. The biggest and strongest private...