Word: wet
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...Marschallin, whom Strauss describes as "a beautiful woman of 32 . . . with Viennese grace and lightness," who has "one wet eye" from the loss of her young lover Octavian "and one dry" with sophistication, pretty Soprano Eleanor Steber could not quite make up in tenderness and charm what she lacked in opulence. Contralto Risë Stevens' attractive singing as Octavian was marred only by her unattractive grimacing. Even so, with Veteran Bass Eugene List as Baron Ochs, and with the help of two new imports, Dresden's Coloratura Erna Berger as a pert, brilliant Sophie, and Vienna...
...defending the freedom of the press against the Crown in 1735 or a negro being railroaded in Alabama in 1941. He will find he newspapermen--the good ones--write stories that are as exciting and timely three hundred years after publication as they were when the ink was still wet...
...test the old wives' theory that chilling and wet feet bring on colds, Andrewes persuaded some of his volunteers to soak themselves in hot baths, then stand around in a drafty passage for half an hour undried, wearing bathing suits. Then they put on wet socks. In the first test, the chilled volunteers caught the cold virus more readily than those who were kept snug and warm. But, said Dr. Andrewes, "we were foolish enough to repeat this experiment-with a contrary result." The only positive finding: chilling alone produces no colds...
...much higher than in the others. His second clue-the death of a fellow doctor-paid off. The doctor had cut his finger while dissecting a corpse; a post mortem convinced Semmelweis that his friend had died of childbed fever. "He saw himself dissecting ... He felt his fingers wet with the pus and the fluids of putrefaction. He saw those hands, partly wiped, entering the bodies of living women. The contagion passed from his fingers to the living tissues, to wounded tissues. He saw the women fever. He heard them scream. He saw them die." Finally Semmelweis knew the reason...
...short white pants"). Moreover, though he may be forgiven for crooning in the days of his youth, "My soul seemed a stringed instrument upon which the Gods were playing a melody of despair," it is wearying, 40 years later, to hear the same theme strummed on the same wet banjo: "The moan of the wind in the [South Carolina] pine trees was like the distant singing of the colored people, singing their sad song to a heedless...