Word: dipped
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...Muses. Writing the first full-length biography of Apollinaire by an American, Francophile Francis Steegmuller has considerable trouble trying to find the real man in the middle. His carefully contrived book is likely to please best only those readers who know least about Apollinaire, but who are delighted to dip into a nicely, often spicily, written story about a fin de siècle Villon who smoked opium, palled around with Picasso, Matisse and Braque and (in 1911) got arrested for stealing the Mona Lisa...
...knowledge that comes with age. His snobs, after all, only face the fact that, in age as in youth, life chooses our friends for us, and it is wise to make the best of them. But in reaching backward to follow their progress, O'Hara is able to dip into the sounds and sights and thoughts of four decades of American life. "The United States in this century is what I know," he explained not long ago, "the way people talked and thought and felt. I want to get it all down while...
...French promenade dress with a very high empire waist and very, very low decolletage. This is a particularly interesting specimen because of the strikingly French robe effect attained by the use of shirring, folds, and trains. The mannequins sporting low necklines are invariably placed in positions in which the dip cannot be seen. Their elaborate coiffures make one wonder how women of the past managed without hair spray...
...surprises. This time around, Mitchum & Co. see the usual things (poisonous snakes, charging rhinos, a terribly cute baby elephant), say the usual things ("You're different from any woman I've ever known"), do the usual things (he palavers with suspicious natives, she takes a nude dip in a jungle pool). At one point Mitchum is tempted to do something different. The head boy (Sabu), grinning miscegenially, offers him the use of his wife-"Plenty for two. Is custom." Is not custom censors approve; so Hero Mitchum, gulping hard, goes slinking off in pursuit of less controversial game...
...wouldn't say more. And in an hour, he was in the SNCC Office, water running from his sodden trousers, his face and hands dried by the long run from the pool. He had picked up two of his boys. The three had vaulted the fence, taken a dip in the forbidden pool, and exited by the front gate under the gaping, ineffectual stares of the whites...