Word: threw
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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...could never have looked at each other with wilder surprise than these deserted children of Bunker Hill and Saratoga. In hearing from their own lips of their waning strength, one is reminded of nothing so much as that autumn day in 1918 when Kaiser Wilhelm threw up the sponge and took the next train for Holland. The rules of our country are-abdicating their thrones with distressingly little thought of what anarchy is to stalk abroad when the firm hand that has been our guide for so long has vanished...
...colleges in eastern United States were thrown into turmoil when the raging waters of swollen rivers flooded their campuses, cut off water and electricity. Classes became irregular, and many were poorly attended because of difficulty in reaching campus buildings and because of students interest in flood activities. Many institutions threw their buildings open to flood refuges and aided in their care...
...Paul's Cathedral in London, 1,000 worshippers gawped when a shapely young woman of 25 walked to the altar, threw off a long cloak, knelt stark naked, was hustled out. In Rome where Pope Pius XI remained in ailing privacy Easter was the quietest in years. In Moscow, 60,000 die-hard citizens, oldish and mostly women, packed the city's 28 surviving churches...
...Veterans of Future Wars [TIME, March 30]. . . . Had it not been for the type of yellow-belly-now seeking publicity at Princeton, in the U. S. Army during the War in France the War would have been brought to a quicker close. This type of yellow-belly threw a monkey wrench into everything because they didn't have the guts to play ball with Uncle Sam when he needed them. These Princeton yellow-bellies will probably never be called upon to go to war because their papas will see to that. VERNER C. BECK (18 months in France) Ontario...
...fittingly reproduced in silk and wool. Her first convert, five years ago, was Georges Rouault, onetime apprentice in a stained-glass factory. But the painters were simple to manage compared to the weavers. Those sensible artisans, with six centuries of conventional design and solid, forthright colors behind them, threw up their hands in horror at Rouault's grotesque figures and great splashings of brick red and blatant blue. "Mais non!" cried they. "We will not soil our looms." Art was only art, however, and a living was a living. In the cottages of La Creuse valley, long-idle looms...