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Show 45, Jeffries, Islamorada Her golden Carole Lombard curls in his lap. The winners coming around the post to help, Dory cradling her, Smith winking down. 'The right girl,' the crowd had told him, down in the basement of Tangier, 'on the subject of the right girl, marriages made in heaven and so on, when the right girl comes along, you'll know her.' 'Thatmay very well be,' Dorian had acknowledged, 'but what if she's a lost beauty in a 100-year old photograph? Or a little girl?" "I guess that's your ride home coming now," Dory said. "I guess maybe you'll slow up a bit, huh? Gosh I like, uh, competitive, but please maybe you can take this game a little less seriously?" They had her on the stretcher. "Dory come here," she murmured, pulling herself up to his shoulder, "you see, up there on the deck, that one snickering, my friends, the girls? Of course I play tennis furiously," she announced, louder, "when the alternative is to be all sedentary and queensize." Good sports. On an Indian-summer day he had found himself caddying for old Griffin in some member-guest action at Portage. A poor wrist shot lands them in a briarpatch in the rough, off from the foursome. "Niblick," Diamond's father advised. |
