Word: tre
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Just before 3 a.m., both outlets sounded the first ugly bulletin about the attack on the Marines in Beirut. Such late-breaking major news is the raison d'être of McConnell's job: she immediately telephoned World Senior Editor Henry Muller and Deputy Chief of Correspondents B. William Mader. Muller, in turn, called Managing Editor Ray Cave. Clearly, the Beirut bombing had to be in the magazine this week...
...instead to the future: "Maybe we have to renew our national system to take into account our pluralism. Instead of dividing, it can unite. I am ambitious about this goal. I think that I will be able to find the right formula. This is the raison d'être of Lebanon, isn't it? To create this important laboratory for the region. How can you bring Muslims and Jews together in the Middle East if the Lebanese formula for coexistence fails? In Switzerland there are many ethnic groups that could not survive unless they survived together...
...Anne are watching TV as the opera opens, and the commercials excite his desire for the wealth flaunted by Nick Shadow. At the end, having fought off one devil, Tom gazes at the other-a TV screen-with fellow mental patients. In a chilling coup de théátre, the principals are led into the asylum, gibbering as they warn of the dangers of idle minds. All are pacified by the set's flickering light: the very picture of the modern family, at peace in front of the hearth...
...avantgarde. Today Morandi's renunciation of the art world as a system seems noble, exemplary and perhaps inimitable. He disdained all ambitions that could not be internalized, as pictorial language, within his art. This earned him the reputation in some quarters of a petit maítre: a man who, though he said it very well had only one limited thing...
...lights go down, the band strikes up, and the pudgy, red-nosed man in striped overalls trots onstage dragging a battered suitcase. France's favorite comedian Michel Colucci-known better as Coluche-is opening his nightly act at Paris' Théâtre du Gymnase. "Hey," Coluche begins in his usual patois, "we've negotiated a fantastic deal with the Soviets: we give them all our wheat, and they let us keep our coal." The son of an Italian immigrant house painter, Coluche, 36, has now become something more than a nightclub satirist puncturing the pretensions...