Word: sweaters
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...Odessa, the biggest of the trials involved one Comrade Kunyansky, chief engineer of the Defender of the Motherland knitted-goods factory. With two main accomplices, Kunyansky set up an undercover textile mill which, using government yarn, spun out 6,250 high-quality, snug-fitting women's sweaters that sold for 30 to 40 rubles each to budding Ukrainian sweater girls. The operation netted $169,400, was not discovered for seven months. Last week the three ringleaders were ordered to face a firing squad, and 23 of their employees were sent to prison. Almost as impressive as their caper were...
...hallmark of the Smith student. All colleges tend toward an undergraduate uniform, but nowhere is it more widely and carefully adopted than Smith. The well-groomed Smithie is moderate in dress, neither ostentatious nor sloppy; she looks classically well-scrubbed and cheerful in her Pepsodent smile, Pringle sweater, Ship-n'. Shore blouse, and pleated plaid skin. Wool knee socks and brown Bass Weejuns complete the basic picture...
...necessarily. Anyone can like the flavor. The style of dress is consistently tasteful. Girls often wear high heels and stockings. Coats with fur collars, small pins and wrist-watches, Camel's hair anythings, gloves, jackets with print linings, and pretty colored sweater sets are common. This style approves highly of boys with vests, pipes, and woolen scarves around their neck; and likes to dress up on dates...
...size can play anything. As the director he coaxes some entrancing episodes from Romy Schneider and a good low bit from Jeanne Moreau. And he gets more out of Tony Perkins than there is in him. This resolutely cute young man, the sweater-boy wonder of the fan-mag industry, is surely an improbable archetype of the Anxious Age; but in scene after scene Welles rolls him up like an empty toothpaste tube and squeezes till the right expression pops out of his face...
...bitterness, the old man wrests a kind of gallows humor from his life. Noting a hole in his wool sweater, he mutters: "So have a good meal, moths. Soon I'll be dead. You'll have the whole sweater to yourselves. And my suit, too. Not that I think it's worth eating. But then I wouldn't know. I'm not a moth." A reader is torn between exasperation and pity. It is a measure of Fruchter's skill that he can make the old man so grotesque and at the same time...