Word: well-worn
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...President and Congress staged their expected perfunctory battle over subsidies last week, sounding much like tired stock-company players in rehearsals of a well-worn play. Vetoing the antisubsidy bill exactly as he had eight months ago, the President did not even bother to devise new epithets. He repeated that the bill was "an inflation measure, a high-cost-of-living measure, a food-shortage measure." Half an hour after his message reached the Hill, the House failed, as anticipated, to override his veto. Each step of the routine was foreknown: passage, veto, veto upheld. The real fight...
This sentence, a well-worn cliche to economists and oilmen, is still news to millions of Americans who think first of their thousands of airplanes, their Army and Navy, their two great oceans, their enormous productive capacity. Harry Truman, Senator from Missouri, used the words as the basic premise of a report made by his investigating committee this week, in an attempt to get all Americans to realize that, without oil, the U.S. would be militarily and diplomatically helpless...
...picture itself is a good and interesting variation on a well-worn theme. An American tank loses its formation and, in subsequent wanderings across the Saharan wastes, picks up an English medical officer, a Fighting Frenchman, a Negro veteran of at least a dozen wars and insurrections, an Italian soldier, a German officer, and others too numerous to mention, including, eventually about a gross of assorted Nazi prisoners. The process obviously involves plenty of blood and thunder, and the picture works itself up to a well-planned climax, leaving everyone satisfied...
...with his air force until he gets at least equality in numbers in a given area, and then throws everything he has at the Japs. He stays awake nights planning new tactics, or studying combat reports to search for Jap weaknesses. The next morning he will be at his well-worn maps, talking about what he could do here & there if he had a few more planes...
Strange Play. Like actors in a well-worn play, the black-robed, white-wigged attorneys had waded through the tangle of circumstantial evidence. Like playgoers, Nassau's lush sun set had paid early rising natives ?1 a day for places in the tiny courtroom-unless, like the Baron of Trolle, they chose to have their servants bring their own chairs. Evenings the jurors laughed and joked and went to the movies to wave at their families. Between sessions Count Freddy waltzed by himself in the police station, read books on sailing...