Word: cutters
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...Nina Ivanovna was brusquely told that Nina had been arrested at her job as manager of a state-owned secondhand store. The callers demanded all of Nina's valuables, and her terrified mother handed over a bag containing some 250,000 rubles in cash and government bonds. Fur-Cutter Aleksei Aleksandrov caved in at the sight of the dreaded secret police and surrendered 300,000 rubles in money and furs. One victim, finally, put in a timid call to the authorities, to ask if the night visitors were really official. Last week the "secret policemen" who had spread...
When the camera tries a closeup, some customers experience a disturbing sensation, as if their eyes, in order to focus, were being forced to cross. As the cutter fades one image from the screen and fades another in, the eyes instinctively attempt to focus on the departing and the arriving images, and the strain sometimes approaches the threshold of pain. On the whole, the experience is entertaining, and probably will not hurt anybody who has not had to go through it since 1955. In any case, it is always possible, if the eyes protest too much, to slip...
...meaning of shame or fear; the women no less than the men crowd round nudities." His fiancee plans a tourist jaunt with a girl friend. Freud tut-tuts: "Should that be allowed? Two single girls traveling alone in North Germany!" At the age of 73, the famed silver-cord cutter is still in an Oedipal tangle with his 94-year-old mother: "I somehow could not forgive myself if I were to die before...
...tailor snippily: "Digby Morton is a lady's fashion designer, and it's very noticeable in his pants. We have never admired the American seat." Said another: "We can't vouch for the Windsors." At Henry Poole & Co., oldest of the fashionable Savile Row establishments, a cutter learnedly expounded the theory of the ample trouser leg: "The full thigh acts as a hinge, enabling a man to lift his leg without banging his knee on the front of his trousers...
Noble in Purpose. The clash of tastes is sometimes painful on both sides. A Madison Avenue adman, opening the door to one of the Row's austerer shrines, took one look and fled-"I thought maybe I had to be elected." One cutter, gingerly removing a Brooks Brothers jacket from a customer, murmured reproachfully: "Not, I think, one of ours, sir." But despite the awesome atmosphere and the great trousers schism, Americans keep coming to Savile Row for tailoring that is as smooth, in one cutter's words, as "a millpond in a heat wave...