Word: flamed
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...worst will ensue. Every time hubby is on the point of explaining all, some one knocks at the door. Hugh Wakefield cleverly stutters, gasps, grimaces, after the established manner of approved farce-comedy spouses. Pretty Marion Coakley contributes a vivid piece of work as the unextinguished Hollywood flame in Room 1912. All this is something of a disappointment to theatregoers who remember a previous play of Martin Flavin's, Children Of The Moon. Yet it is as good as the average farce, and cleverly executed from the box-office point of view...
...decorate a house like Stanford White. There was a certain discreet voluptuousness in his patterning of rugs and hangings of sombre and yet burning tones, his use, for contrast, of tapestries stiff with gold threads, of smoldering paintings and shawls dipped in scarlet, lit with mannered passion like suspended flame. As an architect his imagination rioted into turrets and cupolas, a certain Moorish richness of proportion, avoiding the florid by a breath and a promise. He made a great deal of money. He increased his regular income by bringing over shiploads of antiques and selling them among his friends. Most...
...able daughter Bertha who in 1906 married Dr. Gustav von Bohlen und Halbach. At that time, Germany was just getting into her stride in the naval competition with Great Britain, and the demand for steel was enormous. Before the War, visitors to Essen stood aghast at the monstrous flame-belching foundries hastily proceeding with their grotesquely demoniacal output. And during the War Frau Bertha Krupp von Bohlen was undoubtedly the most potent female defender of the Fatherland...
...Paris a factory burned, 8,000 lovely women were destroyed. Their smooth arms, shaped for the admiration of a great public, dwindled in flame, still clutching to bare bosoms a trail of cloth or towel; their dark or flaxen heads became lumps of strange matter that smoked and stewed and reeked; their carmine lips, half-parted, twisted for a while as if in a vain effort to breathe the fire, until, under the rapture of this last kiss, they closed forever. None escaped. They were wax models, destined for the windows of department stores, milliners, hairdressers...
Just such is the danger which menaces the American college, hidden in the warmth, the flame, the color and the laughter of its Class Day and Commencement celebrations. It is an offering by each individual to his own loyalty, to a totem, a kindred in this case with legions and generations of Harvard men. But such a sacrifice must not come unaccompanied by clear understanding and appreciation. The mass form assumed by the celebration tends constantly to render this appreciation more difficult and it is only the strict avoidance of set formulae and taboos which may keep it from becoming...