Word: wet
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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From the Old Port at the foot of the Cannebiere a fireboat squirted water as far as it could, striving to wet down as many roofs as possible, but it was soon evident that the city fire department was no better than the police. Four years ago the assassination of Yugoslav King Alexander together with French Foreign Minister Louis Barthou at Marseille was "on the police." Last week, although a Marseille fire brigade chief gave his life recklessly fighting the flames, the holocaust was "on the fire department." The conflagration got completely out of hand...
...wet hen was George V in 1935 when he offered Australia his third son, the roly-poly Duke of Gloucester, as Governor General, and Australia declined with thanks. A lot of trouble has turned up in the world since then, however, what with the Italians showing their muscle in the Mediterranean, the Germans down the Danube and the Japanese all over the Far East. It behooves the Empire to stand fast, and a great cementing gesture was made last week when George VI was graciously pleased to appoint H. R. H. the Duke of Kent to go out to Canberra...
...does not agree. To him life is not affected much by the kind of day. Whether the sun is out or not in Cambridge makes little difference in the quantity of nine-o'clock or hour exams. When mud puddles swoosh in the streets and everybody is nasty and wet, Vag sometimes fails to preserve his charming manner; but that's no reason to slap five courses onto the University's enormous curriculum...
...Morris Plan Bank, ardent supporter of local opera, squire of a lakefront estate in Bratenahl, swankest of the city's 41 suburbs. The angel of Ohio's Democracy during the lean '20s, he asserted himself by running for an unexpired Senate term as a Wet in 1930, won by so large a margin that he was talked of for the 1932 Presidential nomination. His boom died without an echo, but he had accumulated enough momentum for a full Senate term...
...dank, dark, bar of a small-town hotel somewhere in up-state New York. Here they were, the whole train-load of them, stranded, with wash-outs ahead and bridges, out behind, isolated on a flood-girdled island. He was wet and weary and he thought rather apprehensively of the rising waters all around, but the beer was good and, by God, this was adventure of a sort. Out of another day was this dingy room, with its hideously-hewn, dirty-mirrored bar, its splintery floor, its dirty walls plastered with reward notices of rogues, new ond old. On these...