Word: strides
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...last week when the Bolivian Ambassador to France, Joaquim Zenteno Anaya, 55, left his Paris embassy at 12 Avenue du Président Kennedy for lunch. Strolling along the right bank of the Seine toward his blue sedan, he failed to notice two men wearing sunglasses, who picked up stride behind him. Suddenly, one of them, a husky six-footer in a beret, caught up. He pulled out a 7.65-mm. pistol and fired three shots at point-blank range, hitting Zenteno in the head and back. As the killers ran away, the ambassador fell dead to the sidewalk...
...crust wife (who Agnew writes comes from "North Philadelphia," which happens to be that city's largest black ghetto), falls for Meredith Lord, Secretary of Health, Education and Welfare. Lord, who is beautiful as well as political ("The cloth clung to and outlined her shapely legs with every sinuous stride"), is interested in Canfield not only for his aristocratic good looks but because he can help her obtain funding for her pet program, a medical-aid bill known as THC (Total Health Care...
...over and Diehl emerges from the officials' dressing room for the tinny rendition of the national anthem. After the introductions, replete with cart-wheeling cheerleaders, Diehl briskly steps into the centercourt circle, gives the ball an authoritative toss, and sets out on his six-mile trek with a sure stride and stony-faced impenetrability that makes his profession the lodestar of steadfast control and lockjawed authority in college basketball, while the festooned NBC logos, pied banners, and roar of "Go, Hoyas go" from the Georgetown faithful symbolize all that is hoopla and froth in the big time...
Some students do complain about their missing cars, but most take it in stride. "I gambled and didn't make it," Christopher L. Taylor '76-3, whose car was towed Sunday night, said yesterday...
...Liberties," when Preston Folded invites Third World refugees to come to the United States because "I can't refuse your refuse." Some of the best lyrics come in "Chic," a kind of exotic number where the newly ascendant black-tied and backless-dressed tots enter from both sides a stride at a time, holding champagne glasses and long cigarette holders, singing, "We are part of such an elite clique, we change our underwear every day of the week." One of the real problems with the lyrics though, is that you can't hear them. Only Robert Peabody can project...