Word: garing
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Discovery. Eddie's arrival in Hollywood provided an answer to Olympia Studios' most stunning problem: what to do with the exact duplicate of Paris' Gare St.-Lazare which somebody had constructed on the lot. And it ended the creative impasse between Scripters Ludlow Mumni and Maurice Cassard. Mumm was a solemn, devout Manhattan liberal who was driven to picket lines by a chauffeur. Cassard was a rumpled, realistic Frenchman, who admitted to an impulse to vomit into the hats of "Stork Club Communists." They were working together on the script of Moses Fable's preposterous musical...
...natty sports suit and floppy hat with two duck feathers stuck in it. Erich Tilgenkamp, the Swiss entry, looked trim and sharp in his checkered cap, despite an anguished evening spent searching for his balloon, which had somehow got lost in the freight shed of Paris' Gare...
...Mouse. In Paris a cold wind blew all week. Bristly Benoit Frachon, working away in his cold office, amid the smoke and grit from the Gare de 1'Est, would have dearly loved to go fishing in the sun at one of his favorite Riviera vacation spots. But Frachon could not get away. As Communist boss of the Confederation General du Travail, he was directing one of the most massive and delicate operations in French labor history. His problem was to maneuver the C.G.T.'s six million members so as to take maximum political advantage of the bitter discontent arising...
...with the Muffler. When France collapsed in June 1940, Hardy became a supervisor in Paris' Gare Montparnasse. He regularly reported troop train movements to London, was jailed for 15 months by the Germans. Released, he made his way into Vichyfrance where he directed the underground's railroad sabotage. Then his path converged (briefly and tragically) with that of one of the Resistance's greatest heroes, a man called...
...Gare de Lyon flashbulbs flared. Newshawks elbowed each other to catch a glimpse of the glamorous prisoner. The door of a third-class compartment in the Riviera express swung open and out stepped three gendarmes. Between two of them, walking daintily in her high, furred boots, her shoulders draped with mink, and her charming features concealed behind a heavy black veil, stepped Marga, the Countess d'Andurain, 51, globe-trotter and alleged secret agent. She had come back to Paris, this time charged with murder...