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Word: throbs (lookup in dictionary) (lookup stats)
Dates: during 1940-1949
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Usage:

...spoke his soldiers suddenly turned away, looked at the sky. The Governor stopped talking, for he heard the noise, too -the steady, humming throb of aircraft engines. It grew into thunder. Six American P-405 whipped across the bluff. The A.V.G.s were...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: World: Chinese Incident | 5/25/1942 | See Source »

...fragrance of incense, the throb of Russian choir music, a dazzle of peacock blues, flaming reds and gold filled the Baltimore Museum. It was also filled with socialite art tasters and leather-jacketed shipyard workers who had come to see "The Golden Age of the Russian Icon"-sacred pictures from the ancient towns of Holy Russia (Kiev, Novgorod, Moscow) in the religious setting that alone gives them meaning...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Art: Icons in Baltimore | 5/25/1942 | See Source »

This tale of humble guts was related with the familiar Woollcott graces, the cheerfully dry eye, the careful throb. In Jersey City, Mayor Frank Hague, listening, sent a police car around to tell the boy's mother that he was safe. Woollcott had landed and the human interest situation was well in hand...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Radio: From London | 10/20/1941 | See Source »

Into this them O'Neill has woven all the suspense possible. His main implement is the drum which begins to throb at the end of the first act and continues throughout, beating faster and faster as the natives come closer to their prey. To the drum he adds the visions of the fleeing Emperor, and in the murky forest appear the ghost figures of the men that Brutus Jones has killed. At each of these Jones fires a shot out of the precious six that he has until at last he shoots the sixth--a silver bullet he had saved...

Author: By S. A. K., | Title: "Emperor Jones" | 4/30/1941 | See Source »

...long or short, depending on business and weather, of the Christmas shutdown. In many a mill town the rising whine of the headsaw biting into a log dies away; the absence of the pulsing rhythm of a sawmill-compounded of the piercing wing-wing of the trimmer, of the throb of the conveyors, of the thud of lumber falling on transfer chains-makes every day seem like Sunday. The noon whistle, no longer a deep roar that reaches for miles through the woods, is just a perfunctory hoot for the millwrights working on repairs in the silent recesses...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: LABOR: Christmas Shutdown | 12/16/1940 | See Source »

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