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Show 73, Jeffries, Islamorada The hot, close room and no motion in the little hand on the clock. Dorian Clayton reached down to shake their hands. Pleasant little allies, he thought. Like Gulliver's rapprochement with the Blefuscuns. "Good night, mother, good night father." The little man seemed to be holding a conversation with himself in a far corner. "You can't continue to oppress the little people," he said morosely. Beautiful Mrs. Griffin. The way she had warned him she could go, flaming out like an October leaf. He'd lost her. Comparable to Mrs. Robinson skidding into the change-of-life in The Graduate. Goodbye, Benjamin. With Diamond downtown at the University Club he looked at Lane Griffin and her cronies up on the small stage prepping for the winter production. In a series of loose-fitting, what, bedsheets. The mothers waving and swooping, dipping and bending, learning their steps. The record player spinning out 'What I did For Love' and 'Send In the Clowns.' In the context, foolish menopausal songs. * * * Sometimes Diamond came close to bullying him. She could get outspoken to the point of piling it on. As his brother, with some sympathy, had described |