Word: thins
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: during 1920-1929
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
...this story is a quotation from the funeral service: "Man that is born of woman hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery. He cometh up, and is cut down, like a flower. . . ." The last story, "The Letter," has a better and grimier plot. A thin, sensitive, charming married woman shoots, kills, a man who, she said, tried to rape her. The court acquits her. Really, she killed him because he had cast her aside in favor of a fat Chinawoman...
...cheerful cream thin was substituted for the depressing green of former years on the walls of the above-mentioned rooms, and all the pictures were removed. choice of new mural decoration will probably be in the hands of Professor P.J. Sachs of the Fogg Art. Museum, and they may include several replicas of famous tapestries now in the possession of the museum...
...nickname, as you might say "Frenchy" or "Frog," because of his madness for French poetry, French amour, French cooking. He could play the sackbut and he sang, in a voice not very even, but bright and moving, the songs of the trouvères. For the rest he was thin, fastidiously jeweled, ingenuous rather than witty, and supremely gay. His father, Pietro Bernardone, a substantial citizen, was banner-bearer of the guild of the cloth merchants of Assisi...
Tunney got into the ring first. Dempsey was coming. You could see a swirl far back in the crowd that drew nearer and nearer as Dempsey moved down the aisle with his handlers and a corps of policemen. He climbed through the ropes-unshaven, hard-muscled, surprisingly thin-and crossed to Tunney's corner. "How are you, boy?" he said. The iron voice announced the weights: "Jack Dempsey, who has defended his title for the last six years. . . ." Loud booing. You bent over to light a cigaret and when you looked up they were fighting...
Tunney got into the ring first. Dempsey was coming. You could see a swirl far back in the crowd that drew nearer and nearer as Dempsey moved down the aisle with his handlers and a corps of policemen. He climbed through the ropes-unshaven, hard-muscled, surprisingly thin-and crossed to Tunney's corner. "How are you, boy?" he said. The iron voice announced the weights: "Jack Dempsey, who has defended his title for the last six years. . . ." Loud booing. You bent over to light a cigaret and when you looked up they were fighting...