Word: darkness
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...Author. Newton D. Baker, 54, West Virginian by birth, educated at Johns Hopkins, was City Solicitor and Mayor of Cleveland through a stirring municipal upheaval and Secretary of War during the Great War. He is short of stature,slim, dark, shell-spectacled. His resemblance to Charles Lamb, Voltaire and Mephistopheles is amusing; but his eyes, if not finer, are more kindly than Satan's. He works all day and reads all night in law and literature. His garden abuts upon a golf course; but on Saturday (summer) afternoons he weeds, unperturbed by the passing of derisive foursomes...
...affectionate nature and disposition." One day he discovered that the Waxahatchie telegram had never been delivered. Blissfully reconciled, Mr. and Mrs. joined in bringing suit against the Western Union Telegraph Co. for $1 actual and $1,800 exemplary damages. The legal petition sets forth: "Mrs. Mulford has brooded, and dark suspicions and doubts crept into her mind as to whether failure to receive the message was due to neglect and lack of thoughtfulness on the part of her husband, which indicated to her a waning of affection on his part, all of which caused her deep mental anguish...
...word of mine can cast a single ray of light upon this dark situation, I shall be profoundly thankful...
...Congressman Frank R. Reid. Rath declared in cross examination that anti-aircraft fire was effective; that Colonel Mitchell (then General) had during the War ordered flights under extremely adverse conditions; once had sent five flyers not experienced in night flying out on a mission which brought them home after dark, so that all five crashed in landing and one was killed; on another occasion had sent out twelve bombers in such bad weather that neither French nor British sent up bombers, and only four of the twelve ever returned. Congressman Reid kept asking, "So you say you were afraid...
...such mummery, it was not his part to find fault. He attracted a good deal of attention from passing children, which was disagreeable to him. One morning last week he got up too late to eat breakfast. As the hours passed he noticed that the air was getting curiously dark. A little drum pounded in the back of his neck. Suddenly his bell slipped out of his hand and jangled, with a thin note, to the pavement. Mr. Zobel pitched forward on his face. Death, said the city doctors, had resulted from heart failure...