“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. He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. " Here she began to blubber loudly for sympathy. The unfortunate woman was stretched upon the floor, with a bloody knife in her hand. Lucy sized up the girl. All right really. ‘Wait! At least tell me where I can find you.
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