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 At night "The Apollo Club"—giggling clerks—consorted there; and then "The Brothers of Byzas", who, if he was like his kin, was a teamster, apparently.

Gone, gone from the Flamingo Feather were my friends of the masque, vanished as wholly as yesterday's snow from the basket over the door.

Nor could Klangenberg's help me. There was the door within which stood shelves heaped with delicatessen; but a strange child pondered over the keys of the cash register which invited "come again." He knew nothing of Klangenberg who had "gone away." Not even the "dyke-keeper" remained.

Exploring the alley alone, I penetrated to the hooded stairs atop which Jerry had greeted me. Now an old wigged woman, crippled and fluent of Yiddish, kept vigil there.

I sought Leventhal, the lessor of my Erasmus garb cast off in that shed and never recovered. I came offering cash to pay for the robe. He took the money, shaking his head; he would remember neither the robe nor me. There was no tracing, through him, of others who wore his clothes that night. They were vanished like Villon's lovers: