Word: amide
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...despot. M. Stalin ("Mr. Steel") exerts, simply as Secretary of the Communist Party, a political "boss power" prodigious and all pervasive. A cobbler's son whose actual name and age are doubtful, "Mr. Steel," was born in the remote Transcaucasian land of Vras-tan, Gruzia or Georgia.* Amid the purging flames of revolution, the great Dictator Lenin tested and tempered the Georgian's metal, gave him the prophetic name of Stalin, installed him in the office which he has made the focus of all Russia, the Secretariat of the Communist Party. Last week M. Stalin ordered dropped from...
...French history, the passage of a "five minute rule" against filibustering. "Gagged." During the ensuing debate on a motion of confidence several Communist Deputies attempted to shout past the five minute rule, were dragged from the Tribune by ungentle ushers, shrieked, "Traitors! Assassins! We are being gagged!" Smashing Votes. Amid guttering forensics, the Cabinet received an overwhelming vote of confidence: 358 to 131. Premier Poincaré smiled in his beard, moved to refer his finance bills to the Chamber Finance Committee secured a still more smashing vote: 418 to 31. Struggle. So far so excellent. But the Chamber Finance Committee...
Percy Marks's searching study of contemporary life in a co-ed college has been turned by the cinema into the most tiresome kind of rah-rah worthlessness. The freshman loses more and more morals up to his junior year. The next year amid stupendous glory he wins the football game for dear old Prescott. Only the amusing and facile acting of Clara Bow rescues the picture from the limbo of the impossible...
Pressmen one morning last week sought out a certain Philadelphia hotel bedroom to which they were instantly admitted. The bed was snowed under with newspapers, and amid them sat a young man in blue and white pajamas, whiffing energetically at an after-breakfast cigaret. The reporters bowed deferentially, for this was one of the few species of humanity that reporters respect-a talented member of their own calling, a reporter risen to publisher...
...Stevens, able assistant in the office of Publisher Alfred A. Knopf. He had scoured the city for the baroque typefaces, finding them at last in a German's dust-buried trays far downtown in Manhattan. He had studied "mauve decade" press-agentry and labored long to achieve restraint amid the many "priceless" opportunities that flew to mind. The Mercury's readers had nodded approval-but that was all, having come to expect the ultrasmart from that kraut-liveried lay pontiff. But the Mailbag saw, and through it, others. A few cheers went up for the masterpiece...