Max had new friends, new social obligations; his time was taken up.
"I'm not absolutely useless where I am, you know, Max," he said.
Max, cigarette in hand, was coming across, under the ailanthus tree.
If he ever suspected any lack of finer fiber in Max, he put the thought away.
Max had roused at the sound of Le Moyne's voice, not to suspicion, of course, but to memory.