He looked at his port wine as though that tawny ruby contained the solution of the matter. He understood. "I'm your dupe no longer. Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother. "So has the butterfly evil thoughts. "Hush!" she said. “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.
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