They went out through the revolving doors that made a faintly
        derisive whistling sound when you pushed them. It was two blocks to
        the parking lot. At the drugstore on the corner she said, "Wait here
        for me. I forgot something. I won't be a minute." She was more than
        a minute. Walter Mitty lighted a cigarette. It began to rain, rain with
        sleet in it. He stood up against the wall of the drugstore, smoking. . . .
        He put his shoulders back and his heels together. "To hell with the
        handkerchief," said Walter Mitty scornfully. He took one last drag on
        his cigarette and snapped it away. Then, with that faint, fleeting
        smile playing about his lips, he faced the firing squad; erect and
        motionless, proud and disdainful, 
        Walter Mitty the Undefeated, inscrutable to the last.