Word: wanders
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...first three books, the poem had its narrator-hero, "Dr. Paterson," sketching vignettes of the city, mourning over the lost souls who wander through it with "minds beaten thin by waste," and ransacking the town library to find out why men have become walled off from each other. The answer is supposed to come in Book...
...nights a week, Ralph Sutton, a gangling young (28) man in horn-rimmed spectacles, ambles across the bandstand of Eddie Condon's Greenwich Village jazz foundry and quietly joins the piano. He may ripple out a relaxed version of It's a Lovely Day Today or wander placidly through Bix Beiderbecke's jazz classic, In a Mist. Then he changes his pace. As Sutton explains it, "When the crowd gets with me, I begin bearing down." Sutton, bearing down on such ragtime standards as Ballin' the Jack or Maple Leaf Rag, delivers some of the solidest...
...knew where he stood, in New Rochelle, in New York's staid Westchester County. It was Suburbia for the Suburbanites then, and, except for a few rough spots, keeping the peace was a cinch. Every now & then some shady-looking characters in veils and spangles would wander into town, but a good cop would spot them quick for what they were, and run them in. As one of New Rochelle's finest explained it delicately last week: "You know, gypsies-always out to commit some larceny by theft...
...book has some very good photographs and some very fussy layout. The big photograph of a bruised and tired Johnny West in the locker room after a game is one of the finest ever to turn up in a local publication. Many of the other pictures, however, tend to wander around 315's pages so that they and the text frequently get lost in unrelated rectangles of photo-engraving and type. The text itself suffers from the vagaries of its many contributors; it is laced with gags like "Sergeant 'Sock it' Toomey." There is an inordinate number of misspelled names...
Speak Civilly to Blondes. In the mazes of such quandaries, Wodehouse characters frequently wander down mysterious passages of prose: "Like so many young doctors with agreeable manners and frank blue eyes, Ambrose Gussett continued to be an iodoform-scented butterfly flitting from flower to flower but never resting on any individual bloom long enough to run the risk of having to sign on the dotted line." But in the end they generally find their way out, bearing on their lips a word of Wodehouse wisdom...