“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. “There is something which I must say to you. He waited for hours after dusk but she never arrived. I have given up painting. It was like pouring a strong acid over dulled metal. Wood. Their minds are turned against him. He looked melancholy enough, it is true. A momentary petrifaction, and terror had lent wings to her feet.
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