Word: dcmars
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They passed silently, by ones and twos. The crowds began to break up just before a whisper ran down Beacon Street. "Clarence, it's Clarence. Is it Clarence?" Clarence DcMar was coming. The crowd held together for just a few more minutes while the old man puffed by, tired, but smiling. For DcMar the applause was possessive. He turned into the pre-dusk cocktails-and-dinner hour of Commonwealth Avenue, and disappeared between two taxicabs. Behind him, Fred Murphy, a very young man from Dorchester, dragged himself up the next to last hill of the race, the trestle just west...
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