Word: plump
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...Body on the Sand. The story be gan last April, when the body of plump, pretty Wilma Montesi, 21, was found on the seashore sands of Ostia, near Rome, clad only in a blouse and a pair of silk panties embroidered with teddy bears (TIME, Feb. 15). Police declared that Wilma had died by accidental drowning. Months later, brash young neo-Fascist Editor Silvano Muto printed a sensational charge in his monthly magazine Attua-lita. Wilma had not gone to Ostia, he said, but to a swank hunting lodge in nearby Capocotto, where wild orgies were conducted by a Roman...
...Idiots," stormed Mme. Mustafa el Nahas at her husband's Cabinet ministers. "You join Cabinets and come out poor. You should make a fortune." Zee-zee, a plump girl with a hard eye, showed them how. In a few years she transformed a miserly monthly inheritance of ?4 ($11.50) and her Premier-husband's moderate salary into a fortune in millions, hundreds of fertile acres and a gleaming yacht. Senile Safsaf, as her husband was called, a onetime fellah who rose to boss Egypt's Wafd Party, blossomed out in Sulka ties, hired a valet, vacationed...
They were not alike. Student Gogarty was bibulous, ebullient, indulgent (or, as Joyce tagged him in the first sentence of Ulysses: "Stately, plump Buck Mulligan . . ."). Student Joyce was afflicted by "seedy hauteur" and rarely allowed "those thin lips of his [to] cream in a smile . . . the most damned soul I ever met." They shared rooms in an old tower outside Dublin until Gogarty upset the mutual trust one dark night by firing a revolver into a pile of saucepans that hung above the sleeping poet's pillow. In so far as he ever does, Gogarty blames himself...
Rainbow on the Road's fatter dividends are paid in local types (traveling songsmiths, drovers, eccentrics) and local talk ("She was plump as a little pig. active as sin, awkward as a calf, and not much more legs on her than a pigeon"). Best of all are Author Forbes's evocations of New England in the four seasons. Her book ends in the late fall: "Crows were out gleaning, looking like blown bits of charred paper. And talking all the time - like crows talk. Far above, the lonely hawk floating. Harvest is over. It is the lone-somest...
...world opened to him the second his shoes slid on the polished floor. That was last October. John was not the ballroom type. He was a plump, grey-haired grass widower, and the president of two unromantic family businesses: Winter Bros. Stamping Co. (auto parts) of Detroit and Winter Pressed Steel Co. (tractor parts) of Napoleon, Ohio. But John was dogged. He started right out dancing-and he danced ten hours...