She so wanted to keep her memory of him fresh, so wanted to memorize his kisses and to conjure his embrace someday when he was mere dust in the ground. “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. Anything in the least irregular is like poison to him. His food lay untouched about his plate. She ran through the backyards of Pinecrest subdivision, piano wire and a slim jim tucked into her pantyhose. "Thus," replied the prize-fighter.
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