The Beautiful and Damned by F. Scott (Francis Scott) Fitzgerald
page 92 of 533 (17%)
page 92 of 533 (17%)
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Then eventually, but gorgeously, would come Dick's turn.
"You've heard of the new poetry movement. You haven't? Well, it's a lot of young poets that are breaking away from the old forms and doing a lot of good. Well, what I was going to say was that my book is going to start a new prose movement, a sort of renaissance." "I'm sure it will," beamed Mrs. Gilbert. "I'm _sure_ it will. I went to Jenny Martin last Tuesday, the palmist, you know, that every one's _mad_ about. I told her my nephew was engaged upon a work and she said she knew I'd be glad to hear that his success would be _extraordinary_. But she'd never seen you or known anything about you--not even your _name_." Having made the proper noises to express his amazement at this astounding phenomenon, Dick waved her theme by him as though he were an arbitrary traffic policeman, and, so to speak, beckoned forward his own traffic. "I'm absorbed, Aunt Catherine," he assured her, "I really am. All my friends are joshing me--oh, I see the humor in it and I don't care. I think a person ought to be able to take joshing. But I've got a sort of conviction," he concluded gloomily. "You're an ancient soul, I always say." "Maybe I am." Dick had reached the stage where he no longer fought, but submitted. He _must_ be an ancient soul, he fancied grotesquely; so old as to be absolutely rotten. However, the reiteration of the phrase still somewhat embarrassed him and sent uncomfortable shivers up his back. He changed the subject. |
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