Word: warmed
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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This was, she said, the first ladies' luncheon ever held in the imposing, gold-and-white East Room (laughter and applause). She was grateful to the ladies of the press, whose warm stories had revived her determination to restore period furniture and authentic antiques to the White House, just about the time that she had begun to feel overwhelmed by the task (smiles all around). She added: "I am terribly grateful that the people are so interested in this. The White House, of course, belongs to all the people...
...feared that he might meet with anti-German feeling, stirred up by the trial of Adolf Eichmann in Israel. That worry was dispelled when he visited the U.S. Senate, was introduced on the floor by Vice President Lyndon Johnson, and drew warm applause from Senators and spectators in the galleries. Adenauer had also fretted that he might be unable to establish with John F. Kennedy the same goodfriend terms that he had built up with Dwight Eisenhower.* That worry was also evaporated: after the meetings with Kennedy, Adenauer felt that he had established a "great spirit of friendship" with...
Perhaps surprisingly, the Navy's brass liked what it heard, responded to Connally's speech with warm applause. If, as his speech suggested, Connally was going to be a salty and vigorous leader, the Navymen seemed happy to have him at the helm. And he might even make a dent in the featherbed...
...swarm of jet fighters. Along with his parents and Wife Valentina, the entire upper crust of the Soviet hierarchy was on hand to greet him. The nuzzling, the bear hug and the long kiss he got from Premier Khrushchev seemed even more active than Valentina's warm embrace. Other dignitaries greeted the cosmonaut in their turn. Then, in a column of flower-decked cars, the official party drove slowly toward Red Square and a 20-gun salute from Red artillerymen...
...most agreeable and freest entertainments in Manhattan is, or was, to wander down to Washington Square in Greenwich Village on a warm Sunday afternoon and listen to the folk singers. There, on a good Sunday, ten or a dozen guitarists and banjo pickers will be roosting around the edge of a big, ugly fountain playing loudly or softly according to confidence and competition. The songs are love ballads and louder lieder, seditious of maidenly morals and bankerly riches (not because the minstrels hate capitalists or, in some cases, like maidens, but merely because good ballads in praise of chastity...