Word: wrists
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...Finsteraarhorn, 14,026 ft., the highest mountain in the Bernese Alps. Down to the famed Jungfrau Joch Hotel. Up the Schreckhorn, 13,386 ft. Down to Grindelwald. FOOD. A steak as thick as the climber's thong-bound wrist. Such was the Alpine exploit performed in one day last week by Prince Chichibu, second son of the Mikado of Japan, first Alpinist to scale either the Finsteraarhorn or the Schreckhorn this year...
...hour, asserted that he owed his life to his ability to fall into a cataleptic trance. It was magic; until the trance was at an end he did not breathe. To Fakir Bey, Harry Houdini, trickster, gave the lie, donned blue trunks, a white shirt, a luminous wrist watch, entered an airtight tin coffin equipped with a telephone and electric pushbutton, was lowered to the depth of the Shelton Hotel Pool, Manhattan...
...gathering of pressmen he explained his note. Yes, he wore makeup. His profession made it necessary. Did he wear bracelets? For reply he held up his wrist, and the golden bands tinkled their momentary music. Sentiment, he said, had sealed their clasps. He would never take them off. "Here, in tender reverie," wrote the star cor- respondent of a moving picture magazine, "Mr. Valentino bent his head. . . ." Discussing the editorial, the head was erect, the reverie was not tender...
...called him a coward . . . offered to demonstrate that the wrist under a slave bracelet may snap a real fist into his sagging jaw and teach him respect for a man even if he prefer to keep his face clean. . . . This is not publicity. He overstepped all bounds of decency and right thinking. I will go back to Chicago and give him what he deserves. Only one thing can prevent it-he may be feeble, or old, or too young. . . ." Once more the head was bent. "I am waiting," said Mr. Valentino...
...took a six on the short sixteenth, had seemed a sure winner. Hagen -"Third Round" Hagen-had thundered around, burning up the course, 4, 4, 3, 2, 4, with four bad holes to spoil his chances at the end. "Wild Bill" Mehlhorn, he of the huge feet and iron wrist, had undone his hope only by an overbold attempt to gobble a long putt on the last green. The 294 was still best; Turnesa waited...