Word: shallower
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...Victor, honey" was brought up by his womenfolks, commandeering their lives. Shallow, placid Mrs. Campion let the estate leak through her plump fingers. A carefully washed and brushed Mr. Lacey sought to be her second husband, and would have been but that Victor had a nightmare of Mr. Lacey as a catfish in a tailcoat and wailed until Mamma promised not to let him be "Victor's dear new Papa...
...famed Manchester ("Doomington") Grammar School, Louis Golding was precocious among prodigies. At Queen's College, Oxford, he was an ostentatious aesthete, a mincing pedestrian with yellow hair all abroad and much thin-piping, decadent erudition. His poems and essays of the period (1919-22) run salt and shallow. Then he settled in the Tyrol, wandering north into Germany, south to Capri and Sicily. Seacoast of Bohemia (1924) gave evidence of a poseur shedding his false skins. Now, at 29, he seems to have written out of his bones...
...three searches, they had not found the "plains and meadows" of sargassum weed commonly reported as forming the Sargasso Sea (TIME, July 20) east of the West Indies. Small, shallow patches of the weed were encountered, and these teemed with marine life. "The Humboldt "Current is gone . . . is extinct.''* Nowhere had they encountered the sweep of icy water that flows up along the west coast of South America from the Antarctic. Volcanic disturbances, earthquakes, were blamed for some vast change in Pacific bathygraphy...
...Aida, Tenor Bernardo de Muro (TIME, June 1) as Radames, in the first of a series of open air concerts to be given by the Manhattan Opera Company. Priests in flowing diapers, soldiers in black and gold, caparisoned camels, slow-stepping horses, passed with solemn unreality across the shallow scaffolding. Critics and adults cheered; the sight intrigued them; the music pleased their ears; but still the children murmured. "Where," they asked, "are the creatures which the producers assured us would take an important part in this spectacle of vocal pantalooning which, owing to their absence, seems dull to the point...
...Biarritz, Vienna, Palermo, Rome, London, she was as native to one bit of geography as another. Nor could people, any person, hold her. She saw through them, always had her own way. Her best lover, impetuous, paint-daubing Rico, she had subjugated. Now he was merely the futile, shallow Sir Henry Carrington, would-be London society painter, her husband. Their relation had paled to nervous platonism, Lou doubting there was a man who could think quickly and far enough, love largely enough, to fulfill her. Rico looked anxiously after other women...