Under the long, lemon-tinted gown and the towering headdress of aigrette plumes, the tall, tawny body is heavier now. The warm eyes seem smaller, softer, in a face fleshed with age. But the quick, bright smile is as vivid as ever; the remembered throb of her voice still husks the rafters—a rising, clear-toned shout. At 53, Josephine Baker, the supple emigre from St. Louis who sailed into the heart of Paris on the high old tides of the '20s, is still a top banana of the boulevards. It is three years since her last "retirement," but Paris Mes Amours,...
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