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glistening and young with a new outlook on life. Miss Voorhees is the fortunate experimentalist who has discovered the secret of removing excess from the hips, a treatment commonly known as “The Deflation of a Dowager." She lays claim to her first success in her younger days when she maddened herself with the zest to be svelte.
We find ourselves perpetually amazed at the female cyclone who is forever with her fingers in pies. Of course we mean Mrs. Dickie Sumner Blank. Probably Mrs. Blank's most outstanding accomplishment to date is combining the Boy Scouts with the Girl Scouts. Mrs. Blank says she remembers back in her Hartridge days how she longed to bring about a school called Hartridge'Lawrenceville'Exeter-Hill. Mrs. Blank is blessed with quintuplets: Bud, Bob, Wally, Jimmy, and Miracle. She has not yet decided whether her babies shall be trained for basketball or vaudeville. "I can never get them together," she said. “Summer here, Summer there, you know."
In the dimly lit hideaway hills of Dead Gulch, Wyoming, Nancy Rausch Autrey entertained last night at her Heigh-Ho-Silver Ranch in the midst of menacing longhorn steers. Mrs. Autrey’s costume consisted of ermine chaps, a mink Stetson, and a diamond studded belt. “Just something comfy to lounge in around the corrals," said Mrs. Autrey when she was complimented on her appearance. After dinner Mrs. Autrey rendered her latest interpretation of that Melody of the West, “Git Along, Little Cowboys.”
’Neath the mellowing moon and the blazing sun of Palm Beach, we hear that the waltz, foxtrot, tango, and the rumba have laid the path to matrimony. Barbara Bray Coleman, of the dance team “Moo and Bray," was married last week to her partner, Bill Moody. “We shall dance through life together,” said the bride at her suite in the High Steppers’ Hotel.
Love is an old story, but this time it’s told with a new light on an older angle. “I Love My Husband,” by Mrs. Dorothy Linke Rich, is now in its thirteenth edition in any color. Mrs. Rich urges young girls to seek peace and security and to send their sons to Lawrenceville. “There’s nothing like it," admonishes this brilliant woman.
Remember the days when she raced through tennis tournaments with flying colors and cleaned up ping'pong matches with one eye closed? Aimee Laeombe has not faltered on her path of glory, for she has once more risen to the top to carry ofF the Wightman cup and is trying to squeeze it into her trophy room. Said Miss Laeombe, “When the score of the first game was 40—love, I began wondering where I’d put this cup.”
In that low spacious farmhouse that rambles over several hills and valleys, rests M rs.------, glorifying in the luxury and freshness of her country home. Mrs. — was the girl with the golden voice and the hair to match, Phebe Stevens. She has
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