Word: moonbeams
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...other writers of smooth, smart department-store Christmas advertising. Macy's bought a six-column ad in the New York Times for a cartoon of a befuddled, determined male saying to a glamorous second-floor dummy: "I'm looking for the Renoir peignoir with the fabulous moonbeam bow." Underneath, Macy's printed "The Man's Glossary (revised 1944 edition) of Unfamiliar Words & Phrases-As Used by Advertising Writers to Describe Female Apparel and Appurtenances." Sample definitions...
Jerome Connor, Irish sculptor, was as elusive as an Irish moonbeam. In all the recent arts of Ireland there was no evanescence quite like his. He was the man who was going to carve a memorial to the dead of the Lusitania in the waterfront square of the town of Cobh, an easy gull's night from the Lusitania's ocean grave...
Just above masthead height, the bomber headed for a fat freighter at the end of the moonbeam, rode up close with bomb doors open, flipped a pair of bombs. From that low altitude the bombs did not have time to point down. Instead they struck the water, still with more forward than downward momentum, skittered across the waves like a stone skipped by a small boy, struck the side of the freighter, settled in the water. The target belched two livid bursts of flame and a tall column of water licked at the Fortress' high tail as it thundered...
When she was returning to Britain from the U. S. four years ago, British dogcatchers stuffed Mrs. Patrick Campbell's Pekingese, Moonbeam, into a crate labeled "rabies," hustled him, "shrieking with indignation," into quarantine. Next day Actress Campbell snatched Moonbeam from the official clutch, sailed back to the U. S., eventually settled in Paris. Last week, still miffed, still dandling Moonbeam, she soliloquized: "It was easier for me to sacrifice the happiness of giving my talent to my English audience . . . than to break my little dog's heart...
Meanest of tricks is to tell a wealthy woman that the best way to clean her Oriental pearls is to swish them through boiling water. As the pearls heat they will lose their moonbeam lustre, may crack and the wealthy lady will grow frantic. Yet last week all Japan honored a short, stocky, crinkly-faced old man who had rolled up his kimono sleeves, seized a blunt spade and vigorously shoveled into a fiery furnace 720,000 of his best pearls. Within three minutes they turned to flaky ashes (crystallized lime...