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an live with that."
"With a story like this coming up, I guess you
can. Would you like a drink before we start."
"Please."
"What's your pleasure?"
I was beginning to feel almost bad about
bringing this bastard down. Now let me set you straight.
I don't care about Teddy's [There I'll do it damn it. I'll
call him 'Teddy.'] perversions. I want to bring him down
because he's nearly a fascist. Old money. Old worn-out
ideas. He and his kind are still slave-masters, they just
work around "that silly ol' amendment."
"Martini's fine. Dry please."
Teddy reached over to the slate counter
surface next to his lawn chair, pressed an intercom
button and said, "Miss Kate, might we have another round
of martinis when you get a chance?"
Well, at least he's polite about it.
"So what I want to do, as I'm sure your
editors must have told you, is to tell the whole story
myself. Just fess up. I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm
playing the old, 'I'm past that now' excuse."
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