Word: tre
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Orange Pop & Farewell. "The Boulevard Paul Bert, once the pride of an attractive French colonial town, lay almost deserted. Shops were padlocked. Little bistros with such nostalgic names as Bar Bretagne and Café de Paris were tightly boarded. So was the Cinevox Théátre, which still advertised a movie called La Dernièe Chance. A big cotton mill, which once employed about 20,000 Vietnamese, was also closed down, but the French mill operators seemed in no great hurry to leave. Said one wrinkled old Frenchman, who had lived in Namdinh for 17 years...
...already calling herself Gertie Lawrence when she won a scholarship at London's Conti Dancing Academy. Another student, Noel Coward, remembers her as a lively 14-year-old with ringlets: "Her face was far from pretty but tre mendously alive. She gave me an orange and told me a few mildly dirty stories, and I loved her from then onwards." Once, her teacher led her to a piano, put a piece of paper under the strings, and struck a chord. "That," she said, "is what your voice sounds like." Gertie worked hard to get rid of her cockney twang...
...Detroiter blinked at the big red lettering on the card: EN CAS D'ACCIDENT. After a blank for his name & address: Citoyen américain, je désire être transporté d'urgence à I'hôpital américain de Paris. The visitor filled in his name and hotel address, tucked the card into his wallet, and stepped briskly out into the warm, exciting Paris night to take his chances with wine, women and the world's wildest motorists. The Detroiter, and thousands like him, felt a bit more secure just...
...rotifera and tardigrada regained life, Voltaire could see no reason why they should not acquire new souls. "The only thing I am really curious about," said he, "is, why does the Great Being grant the faculty of resurrection only to these little beasts? Les baleines doivent être bien jalouses [Whales must be very jealous...
...musicians gave him a party at which the eleven women of the orchestra put on a vivacious cancan. Cracked Monteux, "It took me 17 years to see what pretty legs they have." With enormous gusto, he knifed into a huge cake lettered "Au revoir, cher Maître." And he set straight one matter that has intrigued San Franciscans for years: "I make you a declaration. My hair, it is not dyed...