Sublime

His face was long, and creased with deep lines of intolerance, and his lean, vulpine features were crowned incongruously by a green Tyrolean hat.

Here he was, slapping him five, grabbing his shoulder, and talking too loud in a performance of gregariousness. A walking flinch.

He had an alert look and manner; short, graying dark hair; a clear gaze, no hint of guile—an appealing, trusting guy.

And while Moses had maintained that he had harried the club out of existence so mercilessly because its existence conflicted with the public interest, those close to the affair knew differently, knew that his actions were, as the club secretary had said, “sheer spite work.” Recalls Assistant Corporation Counsel Chanler, who handled the case for Mos