I knew this correspondence-school business had become a mighty profitable game—makes suburban real-estate look like two cents!
He was, to the eye, the perfect office-going executive—a well-fed man in a correct brown soft hat and frameless spectacles, smoking a large cigar, driving a good motor along a semi-suburban parkway.
He thought of the outlying factory suburbs; of the Chaloosa River with its strangely eroded banks; of the orchard-dappled Tonawanda Hills to the North, and all the fat dairy land and big barns and comfortable herds.
He had a large family and a feeble insurance business out in the suburb of Dorchester.
Indefatigably he viewed water-reservoirs, suburban trolley-stations, and tanneries.
And—I remember once in London I saw a picture of an American suburb, in a toothpaste ad on the back of the Saturday Evening Post—an elm-lined snowy street of these new houses, Georgian some of ’em, or with low raking roofs and—The kind of street you’d find here in Zenith, say in Floral Heights.
In the exhibit-room were plans of the new suburbs of Sparta, pictures of the new state capitol, at Galop de Vache, and large ears of corn with the label, "Nature’s Gold, from Shelby County, the Garden Spot of God’s Own Country."
CHAPTER XIX I THE Zenith Street Traction Company planned to build car-repair shops in the suburb of Dorchester, but when they came to buy the land they found it held, on options, by the Babbitt-Thompson Realty Company.
Their life was dominated by suburban bacchanalia of alcohol, nicotine, gasoline, and kisses.
With melancholy he looked back at the last suburb of Zenith.
There are no more uses of "suburban" in the book.
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She drives from her home in the suburbs to her office downtown.
I want a suburban home with a white picket fence and a big yard.