The Stag At Eve

The Stag at EveIt is not without a certain eagerness that I watch the year 1954 lick its wounds and repair to some remote corner of limbo to die. For as New Year's Eve draws ever closer, I am reminded of last New Year's Eve and of my conduct on that occasion, the scars of which have not yet quite vanished from my psyche.The evening began quietly enough: the clink of ice-cubes in the martini pitcher, the gentle laughter of a few dear friends--these were the only sounds to sully the air of my smal...