Word: dusk
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...World-Telegram interviewer Sally Rand explained that the makeup she uses on her body makes her itch. Said she: "Doesn't it feel good to scratch?" Her description of her dance: "It is just my interpretation of a white bird flying in the moonlight at dusk.'' Her tribute to Henry Sittenberg, who makes her fans: "Henry has been in the business for 40 years and since I began my dance at the World's Fair last summer his business has picked up 100%. He estimates that I have 1,000 competitors. ... He makes the best fans...
...pick up mail planes. Their amphibian was not in the air ten minutes before it became unmanageable in the stiff wind. They alighted in a heavy sea off Rockaway Point. When a Coast Guard and a Navy destroyer steamed up, the amphibian had drifted off into the dusk. The Navy boat finally picked up the flyers five miles away. Lieut. McDermott had been washed overboard. His exhausted companions were hospitalized...
...CRIMSON that streets of Cambridge are almost impassible; better, indeed, if they were impassible. Mt. Auburn St. mucks aimlessly through snowbanks, littered with cars, crossed at rare intervals by Alpine footpaths. A Dunster student was observed setting up a pup-tent just north of the Lampoon building at dusk the other day; word had come north that the Plympton St. Pass was closed to traffic. Parking automobiles is no longer a science, but a gamble. The insouciant police swing their arms in Harvard Square, the Street Cleaners dig in here, dig in there, the snow piles up in ragged mounds...
...last passengers to ride with President Roosevelt in his specially-built touring car, in which he had driven from dawn to dusk during his stay at Warm Springs, were Mrs. Roosevelt and her two inseparable companions, shaggy-haired Nancy Cook and schoolmarmish Marian Dickerman. With these the President drove to the Warm Springs railway station last week, through avenues of cheering neighbors and rows of khaki-clad CCC foresters. His fellow-travelers thought he had taken on a little weight...
...still dusk fortnight ago a small closed car sped along the highway between San Jose, Calif, and San Mateo. Inside were two kidnappers and their victim, Brooke Hart, 22. son of San Jose's wealthiest department store owner. On the San Mateo bridge across a corner of San Francisco Bay, the car stopped. The three men got out. One of them from behind smashed Brooke Hart's skull with a brick. Together they bound his limp body with baling wire, stole his wallet, lifted him over the bridge railing, heaved him into San Francisco...