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146

The [[red underline]] curfew is 2AM[[/red underline]] in Washington when all must down their drinks. So about that time the Colonel introduced us to a young [[red underline]]Filipino major [[/red underline]] in the marines I judge who had a face testifying to a tour through several hells. He was the acme of politeness and deference and invited us all with him to have a [[red underline]] nightcap[[/red underline]]. We trooped down into the basement and wound up in one of the old vaults of the bank where the major served. He was on his last night of leave before returning to active service. The Col. told us the major had piloted one of the "Bulkley boats" for Gen. MacArthur, had been torpedoed and adrift for days before rescue. Among the crowd drinking in the vault at 2:15AM was a British intelligence woman with a plain, keen face and polished speech, a Chinaman late of [[Chumgking?]], young and bright and world travelled, a lieutenant in the American Air Force and a West Virginia girl in a beautifully tailored gabardine suit who looked Cuban too and had been much admired during the evening by Marshall and me as she danced straight backed with the lieutenant.

It was rather a large and fascinating evening and we felt we were celebrating the [[red underline]] anniversary 24 years ago tomorrow morning when Marshall earned[[/red underline]] his Purple Heart storming the Hindenburg Line - 24 years ago tomorrow morning at 7:30 he got it through the left chest and was quite a curiosity for some weeks because no one could understand how he stayed alive. He went over the top at 5:30AM and kept going until 7:30AM which he felt represented considerable luck and progress. Marshall still has a very soft spot in his heart for the army and maybe some day he'll be in again.

I went home to the [[red underline]]Carlton[[/red underline]] at 2:45AM - this is my [[red underline]] last week[[/red underline]] there; the ax fell at last from "Cap" Horn - and to bed, quite satisfied the evening had been large and rich.