Afraid, like most British women, that a heavy tax was about to be laid on cosmetics by Chancellor of the Exchequer Sir John Simon, a young London extrovert last week put on a pre-Coty gown of crinoline and a wig, went swishing to No. 11 Downing Street. The idea was that a paint-&-powder tax would send her back to the horse-&-buggy days. The idea did not permeate, for she was deftly grasped by London bobbies and whisked away as the tall, dry, Nonconformist Chancellor emerged from No. 11 with the worn and faded dispatch box in which for generations the British...
To continue reading:
or
Log-In
