Word: jacketful
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...assumes that her brother, the late King Leopold II still reigns in Belgium. Secure within the armor of perpetual delusion she enjoys a tranquil happiness not vouchsafed to normal mortals. Sometimes she lives again the days when, as a child of nine, she romped sedately in a pelissed jacket beneath a mushroom hat. Sometimes she recalls proudly that her husband once called her "the better man of the two." Mastication. King Albert and Queen Elizabeth consumed only dark, coarse "War bread" throughout the week. Peasants, the bourgeoisie and the nobility likewise masticated this coarse fare. Exporters estimated that some...
...towel from the clubhouse, complained that he could not hold his clubs. To remedy the last evil he donned a chamois glove, but, yielding to the dim British feeling that a man who plays golf without a coat might as well play without trousers, he kept his tweed jacket on. Hagen's silk shirt invited breezes. He smiled. At the seventy-first tee he lay on the ground for a brief rest, then rose, sent a perfect drive down the fairway. Mitchell sliced his iron shot. Hagen, standing blandly by, watched him make a hopeless try for recovery, then...
...been the first Covent Garden performance after the War, when a shabby tweed audience replaced the pompous black. Yes, La Bohème was good. But so was Romeo et Juliette, which she had studied with Gounod himself-Gounod with his velvet skullcap and his velvet smoking jacket-Romeo et Juliette in which she had made her first successful London appearance with Jean de Reszke her Romeo, his brother Edouard the Friar. And there was Otello, fruit of Verdi's Indian-summer genius. She had sung Otello for the Master himself, an old man then like a gnarled tree...
Heard in Manhattan at the Plaza Hotel ten-year-old Oscar Throngren recite a poem, "The Bells," composed by the Prince's brother. Little Oscar was dressed in the costume of Varmland, consisting of yellow knickerbockers, white stockings, red jacket, red and black cap. The Prince knew others of the children gathered there from a visit they had paid him in Sweden: "How you've grown!" said...
HEAT-Isa Glenn-Knopf ($2.50). This hot jungle of a book contains an innocent West Pointer, a brainy girl from the States and a Dolores whose scented mantilla appears at first to be the real Castilian thing. The scene is perfumed Manila, "charged with alien, bewildering passions" (cf. jacket). The West Pointer is not inflamed by the virtue of his countrywoman's doctrine of drainage and spelling for the natives, but Dolores, an honest-to-goodness Spanish senorita, and in trouble-well, that is different. When the clay feet of Dolores peep from beneath her wicked skirts, the West...