Word: toying
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...many years the inflammatory deputies of Latin electorates have indulged at pleasure in conduct as tempestuously indecorous as the antics of a bad boy of six just deprived of a new toy. Only a fortnight ago (TIME, Nov. 30) Fascist deputies, shrieking like wild Indians, dragged a Communist, Signor Maffi, from the Chamber by the hair of his beard. To that arch-stickler for authority, Premier Benito Mussolini, such doings have long seemed intolerable. Last week the cables carried news of a "reform" so ingenious that its high-handedness was passed over in a gale of appreciative laughter...
...father the cobbler, who, like Hans Christian, was sick a good deal, died one day, and after that Frau Andersen had no time to think about Hans. He stopped going to school; instead, he built himself a toy theatre and sat about all day in the cobbler's shop, making clothes for marionettes or reading plays. Such conduct irritated the Dominie of Odense. He had no liking for Hans; what was more, the boy did not know his catechism. So he took Hans away and had him confirmed by a Bishop. After the ceremony he took him into...
...terms. . . . The explanation here is simpler. Nathalia collects words the way a boy of her age collects postage stamps; she had thumbed Noah Webster's work (in various editions) and made a glossary of her own. The dictionary is her playbox and she knows exactly where every odd toy is concealed...
Forced to swap half a dozen celluloid monkeys for that rare toy, an orangutan, and later obliged to supervise personally the manufacture of a duckbill, Mr. Taylor now claims that the present menagerie reposing in the corner of his workroom contains more different animals than any other of its kind. Tiny barns contain the various types of cattle and sheep and the great number of other animals stand in typical positions on the floor...
...last poems that a very sensitive and intelligent lady wrote, most of them while she sat in her garden or study between arduous hours compiling a ponderous life of Poet John Keats (TIME, Mar. 2). As she was alone most of the time, her poems usually drifted like brilliant toy balloons, or crackled like showering sparks, out of her pure ego. Three hours she spent once, imagining, chaffing, quizzing, loving three "sister poets"-Sappho, "Ba" Browning, Emily Dickinson. When the purple grackles spent a day of their southerning in her evergreens, she took them personally, sadly. She wrote of lilacs...