Word: lass
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What Rita Hayworth was to the American G.I., a lissome lass named Jane was to the British Tommy-and more. Jane was the comely blonde heroine of a comic strip in Britain's giant Daily Mirror (circ. 4,593,263). She somehow managed to lose her clothing at least once a week, and she was so popular that the morale of the R.A.F. was said to rise and fall with her skirts. Minor victories from the Mediterranean to Malaya were attributed to the fact that Jane was unblushingly bare on a particular morning. After the war Jane continued...
...These Poles are up to something. As a jingling, bezithered theme song about crime without punishment gives evidence, the film is showing a previously unmapped neighborhood of that criminally comic never-city where Mack the Knife operates. Just now it is nightfall, and a pretty, innocently mischievous girl (Barbara Lass) has arrived at the city's School of Geodetics, ready to enroll. But the school cannot receive her till tomorrow, and out into the night she wanders...
Wintering in Jamaica, T. S. Eliot and his wife Valerie, the plumply attractive Yorkshire lass he married four years ago, kept busy with nightly gin rummy, breezed through novels from the hotel library, daily ventured out in the midday sun. As he basked contentedly with his 34-year-old ex-secretary, the poet, at 72, looked not a little like the hero of his 1917 Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock...
...work song, but she has in her repertory some 200 tunes, including This Land Is Your Land, Dark as a Dungeon, Great Historical Bum, Pay Day at Coal Creek. She is a keening Irishwoman in Foggy Dew, a chain-gang convict in Take This Hammer, a deserted lover in Lass from the Low Country. Her dark, handsomely pliant voice has none of the whisky rawness long idolized in such untutored folk singers as Lead Belly or Bessie Smith. But what she may lack in sheer, gutsy exuberance, Odetta more than makes up with immense power, a fine range...
Just Like Gandhi. At the first stop, Lumumba ordered six cases of beer and distributed them with a free hand to all comers. Moving to another nightspot, he gaily twirled a comely Congolese lass around the dance floor, then prevailed on her to join his touring troupe. Someone in the group produced a bottle of Grand Marnier, and from then on the gulps of beer were alternated with slugs of orange liqueur. By the time Lumumba and friends weaved into the lounge at the Hotel Regina several drinks later, the whole party was flying high. As astonished diners gaped...