Word: se
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Dates: during 1940-1940
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...months ago Señora Dávila fell ill, had one operation, then another. Physicians told her that her best hope for recovery was to return to Chile. Last week in Chile it was summer, and the warm sun of her native land might strengthen Senora Dávila's waning vitality. But she could not stand a long sea voyage, or the comparatively slow flight by Clipper...
...motored Boeing bomber at Senora Dávila's disposal. One day last week an Army ambulance rolled Carlos Dávila's lady out to Mitchel Field, L. I. With a crew of eight, accompanied by her husband, an Army surgeon and a nurse (Olympia Fumigalli), Señora Dávila took off in her Flying Fortress. By radio she sent her thanks to Neighbor Roosevelt. Three days later. Franklin Roosevelt's big bird of good will deposited grateful Herminia Arrate de Dávila on her own soil again...
After the motorcade had passed, the sad-faced peons stood in little clumps for hours, looking like bunches of dry cactus blossom in their earthy blues, reds, yellows, talking of the parade of the Señor Henry Wallace. They said that he was of much sympathy, a plougher of ground like themselves, a gringo with the proper sort of gentle eyes. They put too much emphasis on his first name, for he spoke a kind of Spanish and they supposed that like Hispano-Mexicans he used both parents' names, Henry for his father, Wallace after his mother...
Farther along the Pan-American Highway, where the foothills with their sharp banks crowd each other like a pack of the cruel little boars of the Mexican brush, the Señor Henry Wallace saw signs of the event for which he had made his first crossing of the Rio Grande. Painted on the rock cuts near Tamazunchale (an old Huasteca Indian name pronounced by gringos Thomas & Charlie) were huge letters: TODO MEXICO CON AVILA CAMACHO -All Mexico with Avila Camacho...
...picturization rather than spontaneous expression. But probably what makes old-style ballet so sterile is the fact that this is primarily not a dancing age: that is, it is an age in which one dances not to express emotion, but for recreation. The motions of the human limb per se do not have aesthetic meaning for us. So that there is something a trifle anomalous in the sight of the Russian ballerina pirouetting and pointing, performing entrechats and arabesques in many a graceful convolution, all to sketch out some ethereal emotion which might better be conveyed by ten lines...