If I have feasted with a panther or two, I can remember supping with only one god, and that one had been left without an undeflected worshiper except myself. It was Westbrook Pegler, and he observed at lunch that he had been misunderstood by those who imagined that he had been driven crazy by Mrs. Roosevelt. That, he said, was not the case at all. "It began," Peg explained, "when I quit sports and went cosmic. It finished when I began writing on Monday to be printed on Friday."

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