A cleanly young woman of 22, whose fortune has been made by the most leering sort of dirt, faced three bewhiskered, twinkly-eyed Paris judges last week in the Palace of Justice while sweating press photographers cursed in the corridor because French Justice had locked them out.
At this most sensational trial of a humdrum Paris summer the principals were strangely at cross purposes. The prisoner, Miss Joan Warner, hoped to get by with her professionally nude "Slave Dance" and yearned to have it declared Art. The judges frankly considered the case trivial...
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