Word: woodenness
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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...sheet of paper and set about sketching two figures. One was a tall figure, one a short. They faced each other, the small one standing with his knees slightly bent, his shoulders hunched, his left thumb insultingly applied to his buttonish nose. In his right hand was a little wooden sword. On his head appeared a crested toy helmet, bravely capped by a toy British flag. Behind his twiddling fingers, the small creature's mouth was opened in scolding anger; his scrubby mustache and beetling eyebrows bristled. His spectacles added to the effect of impotent, scrawny anger, which...
...pine-topped hills and the bleak, oblong, white chateau held no interest for Herr Laumann. His eyes sought instead a low wooden cross which he believed marked the grave of Marie, Baroness Vetschera, the dark heroine of Mayerling. Herr Laumann, young, strewed the grave with roses, paused, laid a note upon the ground: "If possible bury me here beside the Baroness Vetschera...
...Stewart Landing, B. C., one Teeta-Wakee, 107-year old squaw, was accosted by a peddler. Rolling her rheumy eyes in coy alarm, she listened while the man attempted to persuade her that she needed a new pipe. When he fell silent she produced from her bosom a wooden object, notched, smoke-blackened, evil, stuffed it with tobacco, applied a match, puffed miasma into the peddler's face. She had smoked this pipe, she declared, for 65 years...
...granddaughter's girl-guiding? The Netherlandic Royalty are closelipped, but it may be assumed that the Queen Mother does not rejoice in Juliana's third class travels, camping, scrubbing. At the Hague the palace occupied by Princess Juliana and Queen Wilhelmina is an unadorned whitewashed wooden house. Not so the residence of the Queen Mother. There pomp abides. Immaculate sentries pace before her door. When she rides out her mien is regal...
...hovered tremulously in a corner. They tore off his father's fingernails. They crunched his father's fingers one by one between wooden slabs. They ran his father through the middle with the cold tines of a pitchfork, tossed him on the white snow beside the body of his brother near the grey ice of the Dnieper. George Zagorsky, 25, son of onetime Brigadier General Zagorsky of the Czar's Imperial Russian Army has good reason to detest "Reds." Last week George sweltered in Manhattan, parsed verbs, declined nouns and pronouns. He already speaks fluently French, Russian...