Word: torridity
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...along the 45 miles of coast running from torrid Algiers west to Chenoua Beach, bungalows and cabanas were crowded with sun worshipers, Moslem and European alike. On the coastal roads autos moved bumper to bumper with only an occasional armored car to serve as a reminder that this was Algeria and not the French Riviera. Then a wisp of smoke rising on the mountain behind Chenoua Beach raised a forest fire alarm. After beach police rushed off to the fire, F.L.N. terrorists went to work...
Against abstract sets resembling medieval stained glass, the Nervi dancers last week reeled off their figures in the feverish, exuberant style of such post-classical Massine creations as Fantasy at Grand Hotel. Predictably, the crowd-stoppers were the sexy numbers, so torrid that the Festival Committee had at first been threatened by the censor: an undulating dance by an all-but-nude ballerina waiting for the arrival of her lover; a passionate embrace in the course of which two lovers move across the stage in angular jetés. The best dancing was provided by young Italian Ballerina Carla Fracci...
...would decide his fate. "I have committed the sin of adultery with Mrs. Lynn Kauffman, and my wife has forgiven me of punishment," said Dutch Radio Operator Willem Van Rie, 31, accused of killing the Chicago divorcee and throwing her battered body into Boston harbor after a torrid, 44-day passage from Singapore aboard the freighter Utrecht (TIME, Oct. 12). "But I never kicked, or hit, or beat Mrs. Kauffman," said Van Rie, his voice shaky. "As God is my witness, I'm telling the truth...
After husking a torrid version of Lover, Come Back to Me, Secretarial Student Pat Williams, 18, went "numb" with astonishment upon hearing herself acclaimed. Winning the beauty derby over nine white finalists, the well-stacked (36-24½-37) new Miss Sacramento, first Negro ever to wear the local crown, now aspires to the Miss California and Miss America titles...
Their silk saris shimmering under the brilliant klieg lights, the shapely dancers swayed around the gaudy temple door. "Cut!" barked the director again and again. In a torrid Bombay movie studio one day last week, the simple, three-minute sequence was reshot eight times. But for the girls, it was worth every minute of a ten-hour day. Like such cinemorsels as Top Star Madhubala and a few other lucky ones, any one of the lowly dancing girls may suddenly grow rajah-rich in the third biggest-and zani-est-movie industry on earth...