Word: conventionality
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...Montrose Graham two years ago. Son Allan, 37, has had complete charge of the coffee business for several years (he put it in cans), is the financial brains of the organization. He is smallish, neat, curly-mustached, rides to hounds with the Spring Valley Harriers near his home at Convent, N. J. But Mrs. MacDougall is still the decorative and culinary genius of the business. Her precept: "Remember that cleanliness is next to godliness and invest everything that you use in connection with coffee with a godlike cleanliness...
...radio when it was too late for her to change. Helen Hayes is two years younger than the 20th Century; the make-up that causes her to look 70 in this picture took an hour to apply. She made her first stage appearance at nine. Her recitations in convent school so impressed James Cardinal Gibbons that, by quoting his approval, she was able to persuade her family to let her act. She says: "I was born lucky and energetic. . . . I'm the only actress who has never written a play. I take pencils and pads . . . always end by drawing pictures...
...addition to St. Gandhi's sisterhood in his model colony on the banks of the Sbarmati River at Ahmedabad is 21-year-old Nilla Cram Cook. She arrived from Greece where she took part in the Delphic festival and where she spent two years in a Sisters of Charity convent accustoming herself to the contemplative life. Beauteous, of classic mold, she is the first U. S. addition to the Mahatma's platonic harem. She speaks Indo-Aryan and other Oriental languages, recently made a novel of her own eventful life. Her father was the late George Cram ("Jig") Cook, author...
...rails. At Portadown, County Armagh, Orangemen and Republicans fought in the streets for two days with stones and bottles of Guinness's Stout. Orangemen rallied to the tune of "Dolly's Brae" and "Derry's Walls," and attempted to batter down the gates of a convent with an old pushcart for a battering ram. A well-flung whiskey bottle laid out the chief constable...
...bright young attorney, Maxwell McNutt, Mrs. Gavin told, in carefully cultivated tones, a story in the best tradition of romantic tragedy. She described her life at the Flood Mansion, her dog, her pony, the caresses of her father. Then she recounted how she was sent suddenly to the Ramona Convent of the Holy Name, her anguish, her letters which asked her adopter: ''Please tell me who I am, why I am not like other girls. . . . What can I tell my husband...