Word: bathroom
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...trusted adviser. "What will I do?" he asked. The stark, unqualified reply: "Lay off that bottle." John McClellan thought for a moment, then his face turned hard. Said he: "I'm going to show you that I am the master of my own soul." He went into the bathroom, and when he emerged, there were two shattered bottles of bourbon on the floor. Drinking has not since been a problem with John McClellan...
...almost intact; Detroit's Pfeiffer Beer, only team ever to win three championships (1952, '53, '55), lit up the Coliseum with their brown and yellow uniforms. The Budweiser team drove down from St. Louis in a flashy, $250,000 bus, complete with galley, six bunks, a bathroom with shower, and a private compartment for Budweiser's August Anheuser Busch Jr. In the individual competitions were all bowling's big names and, to TV fans, familiar faces. Chief among them was Lou Campi, Dumont, N.J. contractor whose awkward, wrong-foot bowling style has made...
...personal "Zorba the Greek" when a swarthy islander named Spiro shouted to the beleaguered family, "Hoy! Whys donts you have someones who can talks your own language?" Neither Spiro nor the local hotel guide could quite grasp certain Anglo-Saxon eccentricities ("But Madame, what for you want a bathroom? Have you not got the sea?"). The Durrells were soon ensconced in a strawberry-pink hillside villa (the first of three), and after they began breakfasting under tangerine trees, bathing from crescent-shaped beaches that looked "like fallen moons" and exchanging the beautiful Greek greeting chairete (be happy) with their neighbors...
Swiftly and efficiently the men herded the women upstairs at pistol point, tied them with curtain cords, locked them in a bathroom, and-undetected by a private secretary asleep upstairs-systematically ransacked the house. Soon afterwards they walked away with a wad of bank notes and the French underworld's biggest haul of stolen jewelry (estimated value: $285,000) since the Aga Khan's wife was robbed of $500,000 worth on the Riviera in 1949. It was not. however, so much the size of the haul that gave the burglary its special interest as the identity...
There He Soaks. Christian Dior, assiduously unassuming, rarely appears at theaters, operas or balls. Mornings, he starts the day with a cup of mint tea, served in his crimson-canopied antique bed by his sinisterly handsome Spanish butler. When he is preparing his collections, he then repairs to the bathroom with its Empire tub of green marble lined with silvery metal and fitted with swan's-head faucets. There he soaks. Hours later, he has covered hundreds of tiny scraps of paper with tiny figures, a kind of hieroglyphic reverie of contours and silhouettes...