Word: plotting
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Nowadays a mystery play is heralded by any title which suggests the horrible. Each plot contains an animal more terrible than the last. Bats, spiders, gorillas have been successful in providing thrills, and to them is added the octopus, the slimy vandal of the underseas. As the object of these beasts is to freeze the audience into that state of terror which precedes death and renders impossible thought, more and more frightful titles may be daily expected. Pithicanthropus erectus may soon overawe the spectators, or perhaps a pterodactyle; at the denouement they could, with customary plausibility, be found traveling salesmen...
Despite the preoccupations of its plot, this drama is as innocuous and sweet as vanilla ice-cream. June Walker plays the part of Sir Basil's U. S. representative with soft and flexible insouciance. Bred in Chicago, she made her stage debut in the chorus of Hitchy Koo, and has since taken its verbal last syllable for a motto. Often, she coos the most extravagant slang that can be found for her tissue-paper tongue to enwrap. She has done this in Six Cylinder Love, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, The Love Nest...
...wife's friend is not flirting with you, she is kidding you. Pretend to be taken in and see how far she will go. In the meantime, I will make moves toward your wife." As might be expected, misunderstandings arise. Animated only by the mutations of these the plot flickers on with the irritating and mechanical regularity, of a grindstone twirling slowly to a standstill. At last, the long and impatiently awaited reconciliations are effected...
...straight eight, through the front of the police station, the young lady manages to get to jail, there overhears the details of a conspiracy to drag the young and charming judge who sentenced her into a badger-game.* She goes to his room, prevents compromise, reveals the plot, wins love. A divorce is prevented, her adventures having kept father and mother together...
...female, who struggled away from him through the broken ice. "Mister, Mister, let me alone," she cried, but eventually permitted herself to be taken to the Lexington Avenue Hospital. Here, Mlle. Roseray was treated by a Dr. Martin J. Blank, who, despite his name, was no party to the plot; the man was put to bed so as to recover from a severe chill...