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Divorced. Chester Alan Arthur, son of the late U. S. President Chester Alan Arthur; by Myra Townsend Arthur in Santa Barbara, Calif. She charged desertion since...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Milestones: Dec. 19, 1927 | 12/19/1927 | See Source »

Crawford Allen, Mississippi Negro, lay sick abed in his shanty just across the Louisiana line. It was night and his wife Anna slept deeply beside him. Nearby slept his three pickaninnies, Teelie, Lewis, Myra. None of the Aliens had any clothes on; it was August...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: NEGROES: Black Bodies | 2/14/1927 | See Source »

...Myra became a beautiful young woman, short, plump, like a dove in repose, in action very erect, vital, challenging. Her spirit and swift wit were of a sort that old John Driscoll could understand, "racy, and none too squeamish." He was probably proud of her the snowy night she left his house, penniless, after two years of intense, secret waiting, to marry the man whom she loved and he did not. He was certainly proud of her when, after willing his house to pale-handed nuns, founding a women's refuge" in Chicago and providing that Myra could always...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Books: Fiction: Oct. 18, 1926 | 10/18/1926 | See Source »

...Myra's story, but her young years with that illiterate, powerful old man made her much that she was. With such love as she and Oswald Henshawe had, another woman might have stayed happy. But ambition for him and hatred of their poverty ate her heart. Her wit sharpened when they called on his stuffy, kindly German business friends. She had been formed for distinction, for surroundings of ease and dignity and charm. Childless, she needed scope to spend herself without stint on her friendships, for she had that concentration of affection which makes individuals of its most commonplace...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Books: Fiction: Oct. 18, 1926 | 10/18/1926 | See Source »

Dying of cancer in her sixties in a Pacific coast boom town, with loutish roomers clumping overhead and with no love left for her patient, tender, ineffectual husband, Myra was bitter over her self-defeat, until the end. Passion had made her a lowly bed; she had writhed on it for years. She still could laugh at some of life's absurdities. Some of its beauty was still warm to her-Heine's poems, her own lovely hands. But her steely pride was turned upon itself, 'her mortal enemy. Not even religion could resign...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Books: Fiction: Oct. 18, 1926 | 10/18/1926 | See Source »

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