Word: drabs
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...Protestant nunnery" when famed Mary Lyon founded it in 1837, is the eldest and most retiring of the five sisters. Always studious, always hard up, its students have been little changed by Depression. They dress drably and, under the large, stern shadow of Mary Emma Woolley, lead rather drab lives. There is no cinema house in South Hadley; the pictures President Woolley brings to the college are usually old, often dull. This year girls may smoke at specified times and places, a major concession on the part of Miss Woolley who has long believed that "no lady would smoke." Mount...
...English story of industrial tragedy in the Midlands need not be so quick to leave Author Hodson's vicinity. This novel of the boom and its collapse in cotton-spinning Lancashire is woven with a deft hand; though the pattern is not new, Author Hodson keeps it from seeming drab...
...panic. He does not complain when his thankless, drunken brother-in-law leaves the little family flat for a discreditable marriage. Ten years later Chet and Eve's son, a promising youngster with artistic talent, goes off to his war. Eve is knitting an olive drab sweater behind a window with a service flag when the telegram comes from the War Department. . . . Back under the old pergola from which they started so hopefully 32 years before, childless, grey-haired Eve and Chet still have plans. The house they were going to build will be built for their nephew. They...
...question of which is the more important: abstract ideals or human lives. Do we live for the sake of living or because we in some modest way attempt to justify our existence? It appears that without the driving impulse of certain ideals and aims our lives would be drab and worthless. Individuals will fight to the bitter end for the ideals they cherish and nations will continue to do so by any means they see fit, by war if necessary. If Nazi Germany finds her ideals threatened by unsympathetic neighbors she will not hesitate to defend them and her great...
...royal residence, Castle Laeken, he lay in state in his own very simple bedroom. A heavy white bandage was wrapped round his head, and he wore the olive drab uniform of a general. The scarlet sash of the Grand Cross of Leopold was across his chest. There was an ivory crucifix in his bruised hands. The plain rosewood bed on which he lay was covered with white lilacs. Two yellow altar candles burned steadily at its foot, two black-gowned nuns prayed at its head. His clock ticked steadily away on the bedside table...