SHOWING HOW IT IS POSSIBLE FOR ANY MAN TO MAKE OF HIMSELF A CHUMP
After a while I repeated: "They did marry, didn't they?"
"What do you think?"
"I'm perfectly certain they did."
"Well, then, what more do you want?" he laughed.
"Another of your reminiscences disguised as fiction," I said, tinkling my spoon on the edge of my tumbler to attract the waiter.
"Two more," I said, lighting a caporal cigarette, the penetrating aroma of which drifted lazily through forgotten years, drawing memory with it in its fragrant back-draught.
"Do you remember Seabury's brother?" he asked.
"Beaux Arts? Certainly. Architect, wasn't he?"