Word: plumps
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...long. Former Prime Minister Harold Macmillan, 69, and former Tory Party Leader lain Macleod, 50, have found new grubstakes on Grub Street, as Britons call the publishing world. Macleod, a onetime bridge columnist, will become editor of the prestigious Tory-lining weekly, Spectator (circ. 48,000), where he can plump for his alternative-to-Home party line. Macmillan will become board chairman of Manhattan's St Martin's Press, a wholly-owned subsidiary of his family's London publishing firm. He succeeds his son, Maurice, 42, who is leaving to join the Tory government...
...electric bulb loose in its socket, and he made sucking motions with his mouth as if chewing thumbtacks." » Russia's Foreign Minister Andrei Gromyko: "Bulbous nose, dolorous eyes, tight lips . . . like a punchinello whose feelings have been wounded." » Adlai Stevenson: "The round head of a plump, warmhearted, paternal grandpa ... a man who laughs easily while his eyes remain staring like a couple of Andromeda nebulae." » Neville Chamberlain: "The Secre tary Bird, which you may watch at the zoo walking back and forth on stiff legs with an expression of honest purpose on its face...
Many German women are fighting a determined rearguard action, nonetheless. Sales of foundation garments have quadrupled since 1950, and slimming parlors have become almost as thick as Germany's beloved whipped cream. In Bonn, where a session at the stylish Salon der Figur ranges from $6 for a plump pubescent to $125 for a well-marbled dowager, Owner Helga Pietsch sighs: "Ninety percent of the German women who come in here don't even know what a calorie...
...flesh and blood, a spirit of realism from which it drew sustenance until sentimentality deluged the land in Victoria's day. But back of Hogarth's raw dramas was a tender man. No one who did not love children could have painted a little girl, with her plump red cheeks and faintly wistful gaze, so appealingly...
...minutes later, a short, plump man in a shabby grey suit bustled expressionlessly down the gangway, sank into the Opposition front bench facing Macmillan, and fingered a cardboard file. As the clock struck, Labor Party Leader Harold Wilson rose to his feet and for a second savored the tingling silence before breaking it with his flat, nasal Yorkshire voice. "This is a debate," he began, "without precedence in the annals of the House...