Word: niles
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...cotton news after the races and the cricket matches. In Bombay, Shanghai, Osaka the Orient's cotton men roused themselves from bed or stirred impatiently in club chairs. In Egypt, where the world's finest cotton is grown on the banks of the Nile, the cotton men of Alexandria waited dinner...
...cotton. Russia is increasing its production at a tremendous rate but for a closed national economy. India, which is the second largest cotton producer, and China, where the Japanese are encouraging heavy planting at bayonet-point, need their land for food. In Egypt there is a limited amount of Nile water. Nile soil. Only in Brazil and part of the Argentine are there real possibilities of increasing cotton production to the point where the Cotton Belt could be dropped from the list of world cotton exporters. But those areas lack the South's cheap labor. The threat from...
...reminds me of the beautiful Russian Crimea," Comrade Troyanovsky told Bay Ridgers. "It reminds me," cried Minister Youssef, "of Rås el-Barr beach in Egypt at the mouth of the Nile. The shallow water suits me because I don't swim, although I like to float. Don't call me 'Excellency' or use my title 'Bey.' Just call me Mr. Youssef." Bay Ridgers soon discovered that Ambassador Troyanovsky serves tea and tinfoil wrapped Soviet candies to almost any caller, that Minister Youssef, although a teetotaler, is good for a Scotch and soda...
...year-old daughter of impoverished nobles, unloved and unloving wife of a dissolute, treacherous aristocrat who has run through two fortunes, abandoned his children, left his wife in a state of dull, stupefied despair. At a ball given for Admiral Nelson on his return from the Battle of the Nile, Luisa meets Fernando Ferri, an ill-favored, impetuous, garrulous lawyer's clerk, secretly a radical who lacks the courage to state his views or the resourcefulness to try to achieve them. Luisa recognizes Fernando's weaknesses, loves him as the one individual who has broken the monotonous pattern...
...Concert Intime" in Washington, D. C. last week the solo performer was a dark-haired, comely young woman who appeared in a low-cut Nile-green gown, bowed graciously to her audience, raised a gold trumpet to her lips, closed her eyes and proceeded to tootle. Her arm muscles twitched while she played. The ruffles on her bosom and the orchids on her shoulder fluttered fitfully with each inspiration. But otherwise there were no signs of exertion...