Word: tear
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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Dragging Ashore. Old salts of Provincetown early suggested hitching the whole rescue fleet to the S-4 and dragging her to shallow water. Rear Admiral Frank Brumby, in charge of the rescuers, said that would tear the bottom out of the torpedo room and drown the six survivors at once...
...after all, who will blame the Student Vagabond? Who, indeed! Who is so hard hearted as not to shed a tear--even only figuratively speaking at the thought of the grievous impediment which the freezing slush of Massachusetts avenue would offer to progress of the wanderer's roller skates? Who would not weep to see him, lightly skimming along the boardwalks from Harvard to Sever, trip with dire results upon a protruding nail, half hidden by the snow? Who would not but why call up more misery? It is, indeed, lost too many tears should flow, least those...
Close-fitted bars over the cellhouse windows screened out the tear-gas bombs hurled by police and militia, but screams and uproar told what effect the barrage of rifle-fire was having. The convicts returned the fire with their one gun, injuring only one attacker. Seeing that they needed heavier weapons to batter in the cellhouse doors, police and militia withdrew to await the arrival of tanks, airplanes, one-pounders. Snipers watched the cellhouse windows the rest of the afternoon. Warden Smith, who safely left and returned to his office after dark, warned the prisoners that he could flood...
Good Time Charley, after the fashion of the major portion of the season's spoken drama, features the play behind the scenes, the tear behind the smile. Warner Oland, as a woebegone clown, picks his way carefully and with success through the pathos that at times threatens to bog the story. In the supporting cast, Helene Costello supplies decoration, Montague Love villainy and Clyde Cook a fine performance in a minor role...
...journalistic pipes with a mighty welter of superlative swell toward the climax of the overture. Out in the shadow house a moneyed populace whispers expectantly, and straining, catches through a rift in the curtain delicious glimpses of promised wonders. And not a tear, even hypocritical, falls for the old fellow, battered but unbowed, led away to an obscure almshouse. It is the model Y of fragrant memories, a picaresque place that in the noisy exuberance of gallant youth growing nation. But it is said that Harvard and America are decadent now. One rides in Chryslers...