Could she find romance in this tropic wilderness?
Not; ‘can she heal the poor natives?’, or ‘can she survive the marauding machete-wielding armies?’, no. The burning question is ‘can she find romance’.
Could she find romance in this tropic wilderness?
Not; ‘can she heal the poor natives?’, or ‘can she survive the marauding machete-wielding armies?’, no. The burning question is ‘can she find romance’.
Also Hitler’s Global Nympho Brigade and Gambling Housewives of Suburbia
She was one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen in Africa. Her skin possessed a sheen not often found among Negroes. She was tall and graceful, with high, full breasts, and long, wonderfully molded legs. Her eyes were startling. They were oblique, and flecked with yellow. In the lamplight of that room they gleamed strangely.
This is one of the best pieces of artwork I have found yet. The whole story is told right here, from the aging SS officer in half-native garb to the (Aztec? Inca?) natives stacking the gold to the brave Yank hero saving the day. Amazing.
“They responded to the Voodoo drum beats!”
I have to say, she looks like she could be either Latin American or South Pacific Islander, but not African.