“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. And he liked her. All her protests seemed stifled before she could find words to utter them. At once divining the meaning of this ingenious device, he applied his mouth to the tube, and sucked away, while the person outside poured spirit into the bowl. "And I," muttered Jack. “How are those books any different from the witchcraft books?” “I dunno.
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