Hyperbole rose in the summer air like incense. As always, buyers fainted, sobbed and elbowed one another, threw themselves into designers' arms in ecstasy. It took a calm and practiced eye (of which there seemed to be few last week in Paris) to discern that, though there might be news in the flare of a skirt or the flash of a new material, there was no basic change in hemline or shape that would force any girl in Duluth or Santa Fe to throw away her whole wardrobe. Still, no Paris showing, where...
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