" With no little effort—for the right words had a way of tumbling back out of reach—he marshalled his phrases, and as he uttered them, closed his eyes to lessen the possibility of a break. He would pursue that little pastime on some other occasion. The dismal tolling of St. “I’ve plenty of pals,” he said, “who, when they’ve been doing Paris on the Q. My, um, my curfew.
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