Word: coy
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...affection for Big Labor. In return, Meany pronounced: "We have made greater progress with this Administration than with any other in my experience-including Franklin Roosevelt's." It was almost indecently early to be endorsing Lyndon Johnson's 1968 candidacy, but then Meany is anything but coy. "I endorse him right now," he said. The explanation was not hard to find. Last year's argy-bargy was a permissible luxury only as long as the Democrats had massive majorities in Congress. The prospect of hard fighting in 1968 has cooled heads and warmed hearts with wondrous effects...
...hardly a worry in the world. Perched on an overstuffed settee and flanked by petite girl reporters, he discoursed for three straight hours before a group of correspondents, including TIME'S Frank McCulloch, the only American present. Posturing, mugging and frequently guffawing, he waxed alternately boastful and coy, intense and nostalgic, recalling at one point his 1956 trip "to that strange land, the United States of America." "I do not need a grand desk to sign important state papers," he announced. "I sign them right here on my knee." Humming all the while, he then signed a paper...
...them spellbound. Wrapping his gangling frame around his tenor saxophone, he explored the full range of the instrument, ricocheting be tween hoarse blats and urgent bleats, pouring out great churning whirlpools of sound. Dipping and bobbing as he played, he flew off on melodic tangents that were by turns coy and playful, ten der and savage. Then, taking up his flute, he turned philosopher, evoked the soft and misty moods of a man looking back on sunnier days. Love Vibrations. Lloyd is the newest prophet of New Wave jazz - the freeform explorations made familiar by such saxmen as John Coltrane...
...overrated Czech-Polish "renaissance." In Loves of a Blonde,he dissociates himself from the more adulated Slavs. There is none of their relentless virtuosity-none of Wajda's beautiful but monotonously static compositions, none of the bludgeoning Polanski's Wellesian low angels and shock cuts, none of the coy mysteriousness common to Shop on Main Street and Joseph Kilian. Forman is more Western in temperament, a humanist in the Renoir-Truffaut-Olmi line of descent...
...those sour dates." How did she guess? "Don't think your dear old Aunt Fran doesn't know which way the wind blows." Colgate 100 has similar advice to the breathlorn. The date is over, and Tom is depositing Betty at her door. She melts into a coy pucker only to be offered [gasp!] a handshake, as Tom about-faces out of the foyer. "Well, I never," Betty tells her roomie, who shrewdly asks: "Sure you're O.K. in the breath department?" Cut to the next Saturday night farewell scene. Betty proffers her hand...