Word: foreheads
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Last week, with a large dent in his forehead, gaunt, balding Grimau heard a seven-man military court tick off the charges against him; they ranged from "continuing military rebellion" to arson, torture and execution of anti-Republicans by the Chekas 25 years ago. The maximum penalty was death. Did he care to say something before sentence was passed? "Only this," replied Grimau. "Since 1936, I have lived the life of a Communist. I will die a Communist...
...loudmouth!" And in the first round, Doug almost did. Cassius leaned back, and a looping right caught him flush on the side of the jaw. Clay's knees buckled, his eyes glazed, and he grabbed the ring rope for support. Desperately, Clay shot jabs at Jones's forehead-light, harmless punches designed only to keep Jones at arm's length, to survive the round. The second was even, and in the third, his head clear now, Cassius took command. He raked Jones with left hooks, and the crowd grew surly and silent. Then it was the fateful...
...chosen for his brawn and skill to manage the span of affectionate but spirited Arabian horses, this charioteer, who also drives an automobile, chose in turn to wear his driver's license, a white celluloid button, usually worn on coat lapel, pinned to his fillet at midpoint of his forehead where, as it glanced and gleamed in the sunlight, the spurious interpolation was doubtless supposed by the audience to be some antique jewel of fabulous value...
Hungary's festival pales by comparison with the old days, when Magyar aristocrats would spit on a 100-forint note (worth about $12.50), slap it on a gypsy's forehead, and demand passionate violin-playing until the spittle dried and the note fell off. But all things considered, it is gay enough. At Budapest's Press Ball last week, young men in stovepipe trousers and girls in daringly décolleté dresses performed a writhing twist that onlookers pointed to with a touch of pride as their own "dirty twist." For the monster masked balls that...
...would seem a little too much to Sadie Thompson," Kempton found the studio trying to put him at ease with a TelePrompTer, but "only private detectives conduct private conversations while looking fixedly at the person addressed and private detectives do not set their eyes on the subject's forehead." So he sat, "an actor who was not an actor, behind a desk that was not a desk, and pretended to improvise words already soggy in the mind from being rained on by repetition...