“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. "My worst fears are realized. His red hair marked him, cut short into a round shape that had the texture of a Brillo pad. But I'll never part with your irons. Larry fell off the truck the Wednesday night before she planned on leaving. ‘Do you swear it? There’s no knowing if one can believe you. ” “I don’t believe it,” he answered hoarsely.
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