“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. Cursed him for his devotion that had made him come back for her, only to get himself shot by the fiendish Gosse. Why shouldn’t we be martyrs? There’s nothing else for most of us, anyhow. How much Mary knew is a mystery. She was feeling extraordinarily well that night, so that the sense of her body was a deep delight, a realization of a gentle warmth and strength and elastic firmness. It was for ever. The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica. They went to the gate and stopped there, gabbed with their men, and didn’t even dismount. " 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. I'll tell you what.
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