“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. The idea of this sudden reluctance was elusive; the fact was evident but not the reason for it. By a miracle, he averted its path, his hold on the girl’s mouth shifting fast to grasp her wrist. He could remember when women laid away their gowns in lavender—as this girl's mother had.
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