Word: throbs
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...Columnist Franklin P. Adams. His publishers consider him one of their best-looking authors. Though he has already published five books (others: Woodrow Wilson, John D., A Portrait in Oils, Morgan the Magnificent, Incredible Carnegie), the melodies of the city desk still throb inside his head, with the result that Author Winkler's journalese is indistinguishable from the guarded patois written in Hearstpapers all over the U. S. In The First Billion he writes of Stanford White's "mortal death," burlesques Stillman, himself and the English language in the same breath: "Something about the repose, the quiet self...
This din Kansas' irrepressible William Allen White likened in London to a throb of "Moley, Moley, Moley, Lord God Almighty." While the New York Times dubbed Almighty Moley a "Professor ex Machina," the wonder of his rise was neatly satirized by scathing Frank R. Kent in the Baltimore Sun: "It must, when he tucks himself in bed at night . . . seem to him like a dream. Sometimes he must ask himself: Is it real-am I Moley?' Less than a year ago, Dr. Moley was an obscure professor at Columbia University. . . . Previously he had been an instructor...
...baleful season. No longer the dull throb of an orchestra, like drums in far off mountains, sounds in the gilded ballroom. Dresses black and gold and red and ochre, have been folded away in the cedar chest against the coming of a new campaign. Great grandmother's ear rings have gone back into mother's jewelry box. In one short month the sound and fury have dropped below a far horizon. And the girls have drifted off to Bermuda in new tweed suits, or to Florida in picture hats. Now this, to the Vagabond, is altogether fitting. Not the vanishing...
...greatness move in the Yard among us, and pause to stare at Holworthy 14. Families have come, fiancees have come, the girl from Cotuit last summer has come, sight unseen they have come. There is music, and silence, and darkness, and a great light, and a throb, and a happy laugh. There is confetti and a band, and tall gentlemen in reds, and blues, and even whites. There are prayers and poems, and songs, and hymns and odes. They will not weep for Adonais...
...Englishman of robust John Bull type greeted fragile Ambassador Andrew William Mellon and other U. S. pilgrims to the opening of the new Shakespeare Memorial Theatre at Stratford-on-Avon last week, booming with a throb in his deep bull voice, "From my heart welcome, welcome home...