Why shouldn’t we be martyrs? There’s nothing else for most of us, anyhow. You must think of this evening, John, sometimes—as a sort of atonement. I won't dig their graves with my nails. “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 sprung out of the driver’s side and ran to her door.
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