Word: fountains
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...foreigners resisted-not even the German woman who was told off by police for wearing toreador pants and bare midriff, nor the American girl in a bikini chased from the Fountain of Trevi. But Communist newspapers raised a hue and cry about "clerical intolerance," and some of Italy's leading non-Communist papers joined in. Said Turin's liberal La Stampa: "The truth is, not many Italians are horrified by the sight of a girl in shorts." Added the largest newspaper in Italy, Milan's conservative Corriere della Sera, "They are proposing tourism in long pants...
...kilograms of U.S.-made high explosives," had a change of mind and surrendered to authorities. He told Red officials he had been "coerced" by Nationalist agents in Hong Kong, and a grateful Peoples' Council decided that this full and frank confession deserved a reward: they gave him a fountain pen. Communist informers also uncovered a plot in Tsinghai "led by intellectuals and financed by capitalists" who planned to overthrow the regime. The plotters' goal, said Radio Peking guilelessly, was establishment of "government by all the people...
FLORENCE'S PIAZZA DELLA SIGNORIA can boast that it is the greatest open-air sculpture museum in the world. There, with a commanding view, stands the massive equestrian statue of Cosimo I. Past the Fountain of Neptune is the copy of Michelangelo's great David. Still on public view are Benvenuto Cellini's Perseus and Donatello's Judith and Holoferaes...
Three Weeks of Penance. A typical French spa is Mont-Dore, in central France. There, every morning, patients with respiratory trouble bustle out of 275 summer villas and 80 hotels and pensions to queue up at the doors of the fountain pavilion. Each curist carries his own graduated glass, which attendants fill to the proper mark with tepid, slightly bubbly, radioactive water. After a gargle or a swig, the patient sits in a tub of water for 25 minutes while compressed air is forced up, gets a massage, wades into a thick fog of water particles, finally inhales some vapors...
Everywhere there are signs of the prodigious energy of the most dynamic and disturbing artist of his time. Ferocious bronze owls glare from under the palms, a huge stone head of a woman lies in the basin of the fountain, plywood pipe-players are scattered about the lawn. Inside, the three main rooms are jammed. Canvases crowd the walls, spill out of crates. Weird ceramics stand in disheveled confusion on the floor. The rest of the space is taken up by a litter of objects that Picasso collects compulsively, objects that may set him off on a new theme...