In Manhattan, a tall gray-haired man in a dinner jacket followed a small brunette into the night club of one Texas Guinan. Waiters gaped. Broadway brahmins stared at each other with a wild surmise. "It's Harry Thaw," they said. The famed slayer, onetime maniac, rabbit-fancier, danced with the brunette, entertained many at his table, sent incredible tips to orchestra-players, listened to a song composed in his honor :
Women weep and talk in their sleep About Harry K. Thaw, nice Harry K. Thaw.
Outside he's so big and athletic, But inside he's so sympathetic....
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