Word: zigzagging
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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...through the murky waters of lower New York Bay last week. At Battery Park, abode of the homeless, mecca of excursionists, they were fished out, their wet hands wrung, their likenesses caught by cameramen, their feat lauded. For 38 miles, for 7 hrs. 41 min., they had inched a zigzag course from Sandy Hook. To eschew a tide they headed eight miles out to sea, were met by another strong tide in the harbor. "We could swim back again the same way, right now," said Bernice Zittenfeld, talking for herself and her sister, Phyllis...
...Author claims only to be "a common or garden variety of person," anxious about the welfare of his family, and unable to master income tax returns. Born 42 years ago in Greensboro, N. C., (O. Henry's birthplace) he did an educational zigzag from kindergarten in Berlin to college in Denver. From childhood he was taught to paint, but during a winter (1908-09) in Paris at the Academic Julien, he began to write stories, ignoring many an art class to wrestle with plots. He has written well over a hundred short stories many of which have been published...
Through the frost-bleared windows of the St. Bernard hospice,* 8,000 feet up in the Great St. Bernard Pass between Switzerland and Italy, the Augustinian canons and their servants on duty there last week watched a train of sleds zigzag its way up the pass from the Swiss side. Snow was deep; wind blistering. None, remarked the canons, but Americans with their quaint inquisitiveness would make such a trip in such weather. Forthwith they sent servants to heat liquids. Other servants they dispatched to assemble the St. Bernard dogs, those great spaniels bred to retrieve humans from the Alpine...
Three goals followed in the second period, and two in the third, counted for the most part after long zigzag sprints down the ice. Passing fell into disuse as it became evident that any individual might break away on his own account. Wetmore, Holbrook, and F. R. G. Giddens '29 shone most brilliantly in the latter part of the affray...
...waking farmers to a remembrance of grief, there winds through Manhattan the sound of boat horns. To those who grope for sleep in the darkness before dawn, they are hounds baying a gigantic sorrow, whining the threat of a remote doom. In the morning, sharp black noses sniff a zigzag scent across the harbor down the Hudson; the horns make cheerful yappings that in the dark, were the voices of a nightmare...