Word: pongs
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...ladies of the yellow filet. Admiral Rodman, who qualified as an art critic by commanding the naval forces overseas in the World War, complained that the picture originated in the imagination of one who knew nothing about sailors and their habit of spending shore leave playing ping-pong in the Y.M.C.A. The Secretary of the Navy, who may have learned the rudiments of art from recruiting posters, was notified of the libel. It is not likely that the weary farm mothers of Kansas and Idaho, upon whose sons the Navy depends for its enlisted personnel, would ever see the picture...
When the U. S. indoor tennis championships started last week in Manhattan, several players looked good enough to win. First to fall was Jean Borotra of France. Declared the four-time winner: "I am getting too old. It looks like ping-pong next for me." George Lott, who limped with a sore toe, and Andre Merlin, French indoor titlist, went out in the quarterfinals. Frank Shields, No. 1 ranking U. S. player, and Sidney Wood, No. 6, were dropped in the semifinals...
Love came over the rice fields of Annam up the River of Perfumes, to the forbidden city of Hué, over the walls of the Red City and into the white dragon-eaved Palace. There, last week, among his jazz records, his ping-pong tables, his radio and his detective stories, it found and smote that gloomy youth, Bao Dai, hereditary Emperor of Annam, Son of Heaven, Absolute Master and Father and Mother of his People-and French puppet. Too bored to look sullen. Bao Dai spent his life from 9 to 19 in Europe, where he had let himself...
...south. She was a commoner, daughter of a well-born Chinese ex-Governor and her name was Marie Nguyen Hu Hao. She, too, had been edu-cated in Europe, in a convent near Paris. She liked detective stories and jazz and was ready to try her hand at ping-pong...
...convict him everybody framed everybody else." Practically every character in his books, says Hammett, he has known in person. As readers of The Thin Man can see by looking at its jacket, Dashiell Hammett is himself tall, thin, handsome, mildly theatrical. Lover of parlor games, including drinking, expert ping-pong player, indefatigable host, he likes to keep long and late hours. No busman on a holiday, he reads few detective stories, much philosophy. An insomniac, it often takes a whole volume of Oswald Spengler's Decline of the West to put him to sleep. Unenergetic, he spent last summer...