Word: brushed
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When the Nazis occupied Rome in 1943, an elderly man slipped quietly into the city's artists' quarter and took over an empty studio. He wore the artist's standard beret and velvet jacket, filled his room with paints, brushes, canvas and easel. But the man was no artist. He was Guglielmo Emanuel, Rome correspondent of Milan's Corriere della Sera, and one of Italy's most renowned anti-fascist journalists. For years he had been in trouble with Mussolini's police; now with the Germans in power, they were looking for him again...
Cinqué's great adventure began when three husky bucks leaped at him from the brush beside the trail and carried him off to be sold to a Spanish slaver. From the Spanish barracoons he was shipped to Cuba, and there sold with 48 other Negroes, many from his own tribe, to a Señor Ruiz. Ruiz loaded his human goods aboard a schooner named Amistad (Friendship), Captain Ferrer commanding; later a Señor Montes took passage. On June 27, 1839, the schooner weighed anchor and headed eastward along the coast of Cuba...
...corners of Mexico have heard dazzling tales of the wonders and luxuries to be had in los Estados Unidos-canned chicken soup, pink nylon panties to be taken home to wives and girl friends, sweet paste (wonder of wonders) for scrubbing the teeth, and the little brush to squirt it on. Many a wetback, returning to a small Mexican village, has been hailed as a hero, and has been trailed by every able-bodied man in town when he started north on a new expedition...
...oils and 20 drawings represented 20 years of creative effort and most of them were of Frida Kahlo herself, painted with tiny, meticulous brush strokes and clear, strong colors. There was a moody Frida with an opening in her finely shaped head exposing a childlike skull & crossbones, a gay Frida in schoolgirl dress, Frida as a wounded deer, as an agonized figure writhing on a hospital bed. The overall impression was of a painful autobiography set down with brush & paint...
Born in a dugout home on a Texas tenant farm, Robert Lee (Bob) Thornton chopped brush, plowed with mules, slept in piles of cotton hulls, saved his money, went to Dallas, got a job as a bookkeeper with a firm that folded, got into the textbook business and went broke, started a "jitney loan" business which grew into the Mercantile National Bank. He grew rich and he grew old, but he refused to relax. ("You can't do a damned thing in a rocking chair-lots of action but no progress!") He lived...