Word: hellingly
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...STREET OF THE EYE-Gerald Bullet-Boni Liveright ($2.00). Simmering, sizzling, boiling, gurgling, spitting, the fear of God bubbled like Hell's lava in the head of Bellingham; it drove him out of bed and across the arid plains of Hell under a sky monotonously grey except where the sun, a bloody red, like a huge socket from which the eye had been torn, stared sightlessly at him. In this story, the first and most powerful in the book, Mr. Gerald Bullet adeptly spins out mystification until it becomes mysticism. The Enchanted Moment tells how a certain gnome made...
...their myriad crucifixions. We blessed the War. We told them that God was on our side and that they were doing a holy thing in fighting His battles for the good of the world. Their blood is upon us. We sent them into shambles of torture and into Hell's heat...
...ROUGHNECK-Robert W. Service-Barse and Hopkins ($2.00). " 'Fire, damn you.' . . . 'Hurry,' she cried to the policeman, 'Get help! He's sinking!' . . . 'Hell,' said Jones. Then he cornered Arootoo! . . ." Such statements, several to the page, enlighten this novel by Robert W. Service, loud versifier. The narrative concerns one Jerry Delane, whose career as a respectable member of society is cut short by an unjust imprisonment for safecracking. He becomes a pug, a hobo, a beachcomber, breaks noses in Frisco, hearts in Papeete. All these things Mr. Service has himself experienced...
...Tale of the Orient, Projected Four-Dimensional Stage Settings for a Fantastic Play. Such were the compositions of Mr. Wilfred. On the screen, like dyes filtered through fathomless deep-sea canisters, colors fainted, burned, swelled, darkened, dwindled, incredibly clear; patterns crossed, shapes passed, cubes collided, vortices spun down through hell, sucking the sight with them, and the earth, like a small ball knitted by music out of cloud and fire, whirled voiceless through the gulf where sound and color merge. Amazed were the listeners, for surely those in the dark hall listened with their eyes. When an enthusiastic dolt began...
...love for Christ was really love for Thais. He died in torment of the flesh, while she, dying also, dreamed only of the mercy of the pale Christ, her last lover. He knew all the time that she was the Baroness Von Popper and in no more danger of hell fire than the people in the boxes, who knew this also, for she let them. But splendidly the poor monk sang, splendidly the lady and, though the music of Massenet's opus seems more and more gouty with every year, the people in the boxes, whatever their chances...