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While crowds were rioting in Vienna and burning down the Palace of Justice last fortnight, a tall, stooped, cadaverous U. S. traveler with an expression halfway between a hunter and a man hunted, was stationed in Germany. It was Novelist Sinclair Lewis, now slipping off to dine with Berlin babbitts, now stalking away from insistent newspaper correspondents (TIME, July 25).
One correspondent from whom Mr. Lewis did not stalk away was Dorothy Thompson, curt, mannish, foreign servant of the New York Evening Post....
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