Word: whiningly
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Summer's peace on the shores of Lake Mendota (Madison, Wis.) is broken by the fall of hammers and the whine of planes. New dormitories are arising, where a year from this autumn the first fruit of the administration of President Glenn Frank of the University of Wisconsin will burgeon. It is to be an experimental college starting with 125 freshmen-all men-voluntarily enrolled to undertake two years of "project study" under the direction of Professor Alexander Meiklejohn and a special faculty. In 1928 another 125 freshmen will be admitted. At the end of its second experimental year...
...great outcry arose from twenty platforms full of women in Hyde Park, London, last week, and a still greater whine of approbation surged from the lips of 100,000 ladies there assembled. The females, mostly shod in flat heeled shoes, had marched to outlaw war and many a one of them had tramped, Chauceresquely, across the length of England to contribute personally her mite to the splendid idea. There were miners' wives, actresses, professional women, society dames...
...have killed them off. One generation of nomads has spawned another; continued poverty has bred shiftlessness; until today, if you stop at a romantic sylvan encampment in the New Forest and converse with its chief personage-usually a hawk-faced great-grandmother, who will offer you dirty tea and whine for a shilling-you will find that none can remember when any ancestor of the band first "took to woods." They have no legends...
...forced to stand close-packed in their unheated gondola. Bear Island was raised and passed without the fog complications that had been feared. Then the southern capes of Spitzbergen loomed dimly and the aeronauts established radio contact with operators at Kings Bay, who had listened all night to the whine of the Norge's instrument asking for compass directions, reporting all was well...
...Paul Whiteman's orchestra last year, critics knew that they were listening for the first time to the voice of Broadway talking in its sleep; they were listening to the hot-lipped, two-timing, razz-m'tazzle moan of the saxophones that chuckle and the whistles that whine in the cabarets of Charleston, Memphis, Chicago, in San Francisco roof-gardens and the honkey-tonk joints of Tia Juana; they were listening to tones as strident as peroxided hair, to rhythms that strutted like Negro girls in diamond tiaras. "The most authentic piece of music," said Carl Van Vechten...