Word: trimming
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Ambassador Dodd's successor is a trim, close-mouthed diplomat whose career has been as single-tracked as Joe Kennedy's has been heterogeneous. After a misguided effort to oblige his parents by going into business when he left Yale in 1906, Hugh Wilson married and started in at the bottom of the foreign service ladder as private secretary to the U. S. Minister to Portugal in 1911. Rungs thereafter included service in legations or embassies at Guatemala, Buenos Aires, Berlin, Vienna, Tokyo and Berne. In 1927 he got his first top-flight appointment as Minister to Switzerland...
...hangings parted and a great brown woman emerged-she was the size of Fay Templeton in her Weber & Fields days, and she was even garbed similarly, in a rose satin dress, spangled with sequins, which swept away from her trim ankles. Her face was beautiful, with the rich, ripe beauty of southern darkness, a, deep bronze brown, like her bare arms. . . . She began her strange rites in a 'voice full of shoutin' and moanin' and prayin' and sufferin', a wild, rough Ethiopian voice, harsh and volcanic, released between rouged lips and the whitest of teeth...
...Vagabond decided to make his Columbus holiday different from just another day off from classes. Heading for Gloucester early in the morning he boarded his trim sloop and swung rapidly around the jetty on Eastern Point, laying a course for the whistling buoy off Thatcher Island on the tip of Cape Ann. Soon wisps of fog rolled in on the heels of a fresh southerly breeze, and he checked his position before losing all sight of the surrounding waters. Miraculously the fog blew away in a few minutes, and he saw the twin towers of lighthouses that stand on Thatcher...
...filled day and night with loud martial music; for giant firecrackers with sputtering fuses to appear in the streets and in department stores; for substantial visitors from out of town to sleep shoeless in the lobbies of big hotels, or drunken on marble floors. To an Englishman used to trim and efficient bobbies, it was astonishing to see the police of a city famous for its traffic control forced to stand aside while paunchy men in blue uniforms stood at intersections imperiously directing traffic with the obvious and wholly successful purpose of tying it in knots...
Many a gallon of blue blood coursed through the veins of a snooty party delicately sipping tea one afternoon last week on the trim lawns of the Royal Yacht Squadron at Cowes. Here and there a peer, dangling a strawberry, gazed into the middle distance for a patch of white canvas against the blue of The Solent. In full swing was the Squadron's regatta...