Word: warmly
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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...well in mind that Theodore Goldsmith Joslin, longtime Washington newsgatherer, was chosen to succeed George Akerson (who also was a journalist) as chief White House secretary and spokesman. Secretary Joslin was credited in last week's stories with manufacturing news tid-bits to put President Hoover in a warm light, inducing him to do more new and friendly things for their publicity value. To Secretary Joslin were ascribed the White House invitation to Bryan Untiedt, 13-year-old Colorado blizzard hero; the opening of the rear grounds of the White House to tourists at noon each day with...
Surprise, pleasure at discovering that any Japanese is so Occidentally pretty, so Parisianly chic, was the warm reaction of most U. S. citizens last week to Princess Kikuko (Chrysanthemum...
...particularly fine position to appreciate what you have suffered, as I, too, have been through a terrible storm. In fact, the storm I have been caught in has lasted two years and I am still stalled in the bus. . . . When I got in the bus every thing was warm and sunny. . . . Almost from the moment I got . . . under way, however, the temperature began falling. I never knew it could get so cold in such a short time. . . . It blew some of the business boys and bankers right through the bus windows. They managed to scramble back again however. I called...
...Mother Catherine's help. "Saints" lined up the applicants. The file approached the altar where stood stout Mother Catherine, adorned by a white headdress and a starched apron with the word MOTHER embroidered in red across its bib. On a side table was a huge brown bottle of warm castor oil, which she had blessed, and a bowl of quartered lemons, "taste-killers." To each one with the "miseries," a saint gave a full tumbler of the tepid oil and a "taste-killer." Away each would prance, blubbering oil and lemon juice, shouting "bress sweet Jesus." Occasionally Mother Catherine...
When we are old and these rejoicing veins Are frosty channels to a muted stream, And out of all our burning there remains No feeblest spark to fire us, even in dream, This be our solace: that it was not said When we were young and warm and in our prime, Upon our couch we lay as lie the dead, Sleeping away the unreturning time. O Sweet, O heavy-lidded, O my love, When morning strikes her spear upon the land, And we must rise and arm us and reprove The insolent daylight with a steady hand, Be not discountenanced...