Word: terrorisms
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...begin with and to be quite frank we are a bit disappointed. Did the mob surge into sacred dormitory corridors causing shrieks and terror as it passed? Not exactly. Stray delegations wandered about on the first floor, and even a trifle abashed walked out; only the noble contingent which had penetrated Bertram swept off with the dinner gong and the keys. Did they get invited to have some ice cream and did they yelp in answer "we want beer." Not quite, except that the inspiring slogan actually did rend the night air. From the safe vantage point of upstairs windows...
...blaze of gunfire among the snowbound mountains of Essex County earlier this month.. Police and U. S. Army records had failed to identify him. But inhabitants of the vicinity had not ceased to wonder and talk about the prodigious "wild man of the Adirondacks" and the terror he spread in the three days it took to catch...
...late days of the Reign of Terror a sallow faced little man stood up in a spate of gunfire and shouted an order. A dirty Paris mob had started a street fight, and in the interests of peace it must be stopped. There was the rumble of caissons over the cobbles, the dull roar of cannon, the outcries of a dispersing crowd, and Napoleon had ordered his first artillery into action. From that time on his name was writ large on the map of Europe. The Alps, Italy, Egypt, Marengo, and the little figure came out of the mists...
...menacing approach of a blind man's tapping stick, saw visions of a beautiful porcelain woman who comforted him. To flee the blind man he hides away in an obscure hotel in Budapest, drinks brandy by the bottle, neat. Finally his longing for the porcelain woman overcomes his terror of the blind man. He leaves the hotel to try to find her in the world outside. Led by befuddled memories he looks to find her in one of his old mistresses, without success. He sees the blind man, but this time it is a real one. Mr. Callus, whom...
...harrow up the soul, freeze the young blood; and one day a very young reviewer squirmed in his theatre seat as John Barrymore darkened the screen with the long shadow of Hyde. Not even a break in the film and an "End of Reel Three" sign could dull the terror of that figure as with the ffickering stealth of primitive films he bared his fangs and prowled the streets of Soho. Such memories as these Mr. March had to contend with if he was to satisfy this reviewer. He was beaten before he began; for the man who made merry...