Word: claddings
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Translucent Togas. Once past the entry hall, patrons are politely requested to remove their shoes. They are escorted up a ramp into the cavernous main studio, to confront a brain-boggling scene. Dimly distinguishable in the half-light, two dozen or more toga-clad figures are arranged in random fashion around 14 raised platforms, lushly carpeted and joined together by a narrow walkway. Ghostly music emanates from unseen speakers; colored lights flicker over the ceiling and walls. New arrivals are led to platforms, helped into their own translucent togas and encouraged to doff as many of their clothes as they...
...speaking flyers are housed in the dilapidated, mosquito-ridden Hôtel de la Rèsidence, run by a waspish French brunette named Jackie, whose sole virtue seems to be that she is able to count in English. Eighteen of the pilots are Rhodesian and South African, all clad in the uniform of the British colonial in Africa: highly polished shoes, long socks, neatly pressed shorts and starched bush jackets. Carefully holding themselves apart are several ex-RAF types, moustached and bearded, who punctuate their clipped, casual conversation with dated bits of Battle of Britain slang like "wack...
...French crews have a much pleasanter home. They are housed in the ultramodern Hotel Gamba, where they spend their off-duty time devouring expensive meals ($25 and up) and socking away wine at $15 a bottle. Clad in soiled shorts and sweat-stained shirts, their bare feet stuck into rubber Japanese zori, they look to be a much scruffier lot than the colonial swells at the Rèsidence. They are much more close-mouthed as well. All attempts to start conversations fail; their thin, long-nosed Gallic faces remain blank...
Dozens of Crimeds, clad in pastel shirts, entered the competition, held in a room carefully designed to simulate a television studio. Coach Joel R. Kramer began to rapid-fire questions at them, and made a record of who answered what...
...recent night in the village of Da Loc, in the Mekong Delta, seven civilians lay quietly in the mud. Cold rain dripped down their necks from the leaves of banana trees overhead. Suddenly, they spotted more than 20 black-pajama-clad figures creeping across the ripening paddies. At close range, the ragtag villagers opened fire with ancient rifles and M-l carbines. The Viet Cong attackers fled swiftly, leaving behind four dead and a prized Browning automatic rifle...