Word: paired
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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Certain lords of the canned comment have demurred to this: they accept the explanation but' hold Truman and his predecessor responsible for the climate of opinion. They have developed a Pied Piper theory of presidential leadership, with a main thesis that a pair of malicious individuals single-handedly bent all of society to their purposes. This is surely fatuous. Roosevelt and Truman may well have been at fault, when viewed with the aid of hindsight, for not restraining the high vintage liberalism of their twenty years in office more efficiently, but no one man can create such a spirit...
...four-year-old Lee and Chief Paladino went back to Tokyo, got a valid visa and made the trans-Pacific flight once more. In Hawaii, before winging on to his new home, Lee was welcomed with a jar of kimchi (Korean pickled cabbage), which he ate, and a pair of cowboy six-shooters, which he quickly buckled on. Lee responded with one of his few English words...
...tottered into the improvised courtroom at Saltanatabad barracks, seven miles outside Teheran. Pallid, his bony frame trembling beneath two overcoats and a pair of wool pajamas he lurched dramatically to the defendant's bench and lay there on his side, gasping for air, his throat fluttering. He croaked feebly for Coramine (a stimulant) and sipped it from a cup, each lip movement seeming his last...
Illinois, undefeated and ranked No. 3 in the U.S. (after Notre Dame and Maryland), counted heavily on a pair of the ablest touchdown twins since Army's famed Doc Blanchard and Glenn Davis. They were Negro Sophomores J. C. ("Mr. Outside") Caroline, the nation's leading ground-gainer, who had already broken Red Grange's old Illinois yardage record,* and Mickey ("Mr. Inside") Bates, who was just two shy of Grange's 13 touchdowns in one season. Furthermore, the touchdown twins are able to switch their inside-outside roles. Wisconsin seemed to have little to offer...
...Miller has a lovely pair of legs and tries hard to live up to them. Keenan Wynn and James Whitmore, as the collection agents for a prominent gambler, should bring down the house as two of the daintiest thugs who ever did a sentimental buck and wing at the annual picnic of Murder, Inc. The rest of the dances, however, seem overrehearsed-as though the dancers had long since stopped enjoying them. Only the music, some of the very best that Cole Porter ever wrote, is unimpaired; the picture is almost worth seeing just to hear it again...