“Fred,” he said, “do you remember taking me to dinner at the ‘Ambassador’s,’ one evening last September, to meet a girl who was singing there? Hamilton and Drummond and his lot were with us. She wet some absorbent cotton with alcohol and refreshed his face and neck. She was the type that people of every age gravitated to, naturally affable and kind to everyone. Before that came your father didn’t even know you were gone. The white haze of poison clouded her eyes. She spoke with an entirely false note of cheerful offhandedness.
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