Word: gloweringly
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PRIMITIVE ARTISTS OF YUGOSLAVIA by Oto Bihalji-Merin. 200 pages. McGraw-Hill. $16.95. The impact of these native artists, most of them peasants, is almost unbearably and perhaps unwittingly sad. The skies glower. A hired man slumps by his ax, in utter fatigue or despair. In a village cafe, the dancers do not smile. An old woman nods by candlelight, her face pale as death. A gypsy wedding scene seethes with movement, but the movement is angry, and the arm of the old man in the foreground seems to be raised in menace, his mouth seems to bellow wrath. Although...
...normal, healthy, 20th century girl-and that, though his nibs doesn't know it, means trouble. Drawing an unfathomable sigh. Don Juan exposes the poor young thing to his invincible romantic glower. She looks at him curiously, as though he were one of her mother's old beaux. "Kiss me." he murmurs torridly. She readily complies, suffers no evident reaction, coolly informs him: "You're the 37th. I want to kiss 50 men before I get married.'' Smugly, she assures him that she is in love with her fiancé. Has Don Juan never been...
...Cuban exiles who live near Miami and glower across the Straits of Florida at Fidel Castro, last week's opportunity for a propaganda blow was irresistible: 2,000 U.S. travel agents were freeloading on Castro in Havana in a convention dedicated to the fatuous proposition that present-day Cuba is a tourist paradise. Off from Florida went a DC-3 loaded with anti-Castro leaflets, which fluttered down upon the Cuban capital. Fidel Castro, shaken by a key defection in his rebel army that same day, and reports that terrorists were at work, filled the air with machine...
Under the spotlight, her thin, sharp face had the moody glower of an unsuccessful manicurist. Her lank, hemp-colored hair splashed in uncombed confusion above her black velvet sheath. But weird as she looked, slack-mouthed, hazel-eyed Singer Tammy Grimes sounded wonderful-no mean accomplishment in the cramped quarters of Julius Monk's Downstairs at the Upstairs, a crowded Manhattan nightclub where the man who moves may catch his neighbor's elbow in his ear or his companion's highball...
...regime of Nuri asSaid, Baghdad is an armed camp. It simmers with hatred for the foreigner. Its dusty streets are oppressive with the sense of suppressed violence. Cops and soldiers with planted bayonets guard hotel entrances. Armored cars bristle before public buildings and jeep-mounted recoilless 106-mm. guns glower down the broad avenues, presumably on guard against the "corruption" and "imperialist aggressors" the Baghdad radio so ceaselessly attacks. Barefoot young people rove the banks of the Tigris, singing patriotic songs and shouting: "Nasser, Nasser." Every wall and shopwindow in town bears the image of the idol of the Nile...