Word: nooks
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...Song" Donald Peers before he could get in the stage door. Inside, the hullaballoo swelled to Sinatran size, even though, noted one London reviewer, stocky, ruddy-faced Crooner Peers "makes no undernourished appeal to the maternal instinct." From the minute he first let them have it-In a Shady Nook, It's a Hap-Hap-Happy Day-in a jolly and effervescent baritone, "like an uncle at a children's party," the fans couldn't get enough of Britain's "Sinatra with blood." By his own stop watch, Welshman Peers bested Sinatra's onstage record...
...college that's really on the beam? Fill the stands on Saturday and watch us back our team!"). Twice a day, they snarled traffic with their jalopies, peddled tickets to pedestrians and motorists. Each afternoon they had a six-piece band jiving in front of the Book Nook store. Covering every angle, they even patched the hole in the stadium fence so that grade-school kids could no longer sneak in free...
...down with a train much, and she laughed and said not much. "Of course, this place is practical when you are entertaining the Prime Minister of India, but it's hard bringing up a family in it. Imagine eating breakfast on that enormous table. We tried to build a nook some place but couldn't....Of course, this ball room came in handy when the boys had their electric trains...
Much to their credit Producer Pandro Berman and Director Vincente Minelli have stoutly refused to spice up the sin or gloss over the grimness of Emma's life. Instead, at a leisurely and often-lagging pace they have pried into every nook & cranny of Emma's avid, neurotic soul and the drab existence that nourished it. The handling of bumbling peasants and pompous tradesmen has an acid authority. One memorable scene-a whirling, overheated ball at a local château-is a wonderfully skillful projection of Emma's half-swooning sense of her own seductiveness...
...audience had pushed into every nook of the University of Chicago's Rockefeller Memorial Chapel and several hundred spilled over on to the lawn outside. At 8:30, a kindly-faced man, with the tiny red rosette of the Legion of Honor in the lapel of his grey suit, nudged his way through the chancel, climbed up on the organ bench, stretched his legs, and began Bach's Prelude in C Major. As he wove the huge fabric of the fugue, never losing a single thread of it, his listeners understood why Marcel Dupré is considered...