In the mid-90s of the last century when I had been writing for THE WORLD for one or two years, the newspaper sent me to cover a wedding that promised to be the height of vulgarity as far as clothing was concerned. My section chief told me: "The director has said not to load the inks a lot, since the photos will speak for themselves." And so it was. The snapshots of the guests entering the church in low-cut evening gowns full of oropeles shining by the sun that reflected at six o'clock
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