Thomas caldecott chubb biography sample
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F. Scott Fitzgerald: The Last Laocoön
by Robert Sklar
Chapter eight
With The Great Gatsby F. Scott Fitzgerald knew he had come into his own at last as an artist. In the midst of composition, from the French Riviera in , “I think my novel is about the best American novel ever written… It's been a fair summer. I've been unhappy but my work hasn't suffered from it. I am grown at last.” When it was almost done he proclaimed to Edmund Wilson, The excess of bravado he put into these remarks was justified when Perkins responded generously and perceptively to the manuscript. “Thanks and thanks and thanks for your letters,” . “I'd rather have you and Bunny [Edmund Wilson] like it than anyone I know. And I'd rather have you like it than Bunny. If it's as good as you say, when I finish with the proof it'll be perfect.” During the winter Fitzgerald polished the proofs in Rome and Capri, and indeed he came close to accomplishing what he had promised. He knew he had written an importa
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1792
Chubb traces its history to 1792, when investors met at Independence Hall in Philadelphia to organize the Insurance Company of North America (INA), the first stock insurance company in the United States.
INA, then part of Cigna Corporation, was acquired by ACE Limited in 1999.
1882
The origins of the Chubb Corporation date back to 1882 when Thomas Caldecot Chubb and his son Percy opened their marine processen att garantera finansiellt stöd eller täckning business in the seaport district of New York City.
1985
American Casualty Excess Insurance Company Ltd. and parent ACE Limited form.
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Perfectly Boring
They ate it straight, stripping off the spines and skin and chewing it to a pulp, washing down the bitter taste with ouzo and cigarettes. They also brewed it into tea. Before long, the effects began to reveal themselves. For a time they sat in silence, enjoying a comfortable introspection. They laughed a little, too. The third friend quoted Allen Ginsberg and clapped off beat. Inspired, Hall leapt up off the couch and danced his version of a Ghost Dance. After a while, he noticed Eggleston sitting very still and staring at him with an obscure, stony concentration. Hall asked what he was looking at.
“You,” Eggleston said. “You are pulsating red.”
Keeping his solemn expression, Eggleston stood and announced that they should leave at once for Laredo—a thirteen-hour drive—to procure more peyote. Who could argue? They stumbled into a Buick and took off for South Texas, stopping only for gas and more cigarettes. On the wa