Word: proprietresses
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...Ilyitch in this cold war burlesque was Vladimir Ilyitch Ulyanov, latterly known as Lenin, and where he slept (during the summer of 1916) was a palatial Swiss chalet outside Bern. Or at least that is the sales story of the villa's canny proprietress, who has long tried to sell it to the Soviet embassy. But the Kremlin professes disinterest-until suddenly the historic site is bought by one Parker Atherton III and his wife Bliss, "a severely elegant, strong-minded girl with auburn hair and a trust fund." Atherton is a vice consul at the U.S. embassy...
...roll singer who sold 10 million records (You Send Me, Kissing Cousins) in nine years, last spring advertised his appearance at a Manhattan nightclub with a 20-ft. by 100-ft. billboard that proclaimed "Sam's the biggest Cooke in town"; of bullet wounds inflicted by a motel proprietress when the singer burst in on her half-clad; in Los Angeles...
...bicycle, reduce their liquor intake and cut restaurant side dishes to a maximum of three. In keeping with his austere mood, Park advised women to wear their skirts shorter and demanded crew cuts for men. Above all, civil servants must stay out of kiseng (geisha) houses. That, declared the proprietress of a big kiseng house in Seoul, was carrying things too far. Said she: "Where else can government officials transact their business...
James Booth is attractive and forceful as the young cuckold. U.S. audiences will recognize Murray Melvin from his fine work as a star in A Taste of Honey, but most of the cast are unfamiliar. Some, in fact--like the Jewish bakery proprietress and the pub owner--are not professional actors; they play themselves. Yet there is not an inferior performance by anyone. All are as convincing as the architectural surroundings, now gradually succumbing to the forces of urban redevelopment (one of the buildings used was razed two days after filming...
Though the signs outside identified it as a hotel, the Cavendish was no place for the unsuspecting tourist. Most strangers who ventured into the dim, cluttered lobby at 82 Jermyn Street were sternly told to try elsewhere. Others, if they were lucky enough to remind the proprietress of some long-vanished Victorian buck or Bostonian pooh-bah, would be clasped to her shapely bosom and regaled with surrealistic reminiscences about old Lord Droopy Drawers and Lady You-Know-'Oo, or "the time we went to Ireland on roller skates...