This Side of Paradise F. Scott Fitzgerald (mini ebook reader .txt) š
- Author: F. Scott Fitzgerald
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Kerryās death was a blow, so was Jesseās to a certain extent. And I have a great curiosity to know what queer corner of the world has swallowed Burne. Do you suppose heās in prison under some false name? I confess that the war instead of making me orthodox, which is the correct reaction, has made me a passionate agnostic. The Catholic Church has had its wings clipped so often lately that its part was timidly negligible, and they havenāt any good writers any more. Iām sick of Chesterton.
Iāve only discovered one soldier who passed through the much-advertised spiritual crisis, like this fellow, Donald Hankey, and the one I knew was already studying for the ministry, so he was ripe for it. I honestly think thatās all pretty much rot, though it seemed to give sentimental comfort to those at home; and may make fathers and mothers appreciate their children. This crisis-inspired religion is rather valueless and fleeting at best. I think four men have discovered Paris to one that discovered God.
But usā āyou and me and Alecā āoh, weāll get a Jap butler and dress for dinner and have wine on the table and lead a contemplative, emotionless life until we decide to use machine-guns with the property ownersā āor throw bombs with the Bolshevik. God! Tom, I hope something happens. Iām restless as the devil and have a horror of getting fat or falling in love and growing domestic.
The place at Lake Geneva is now for rent but when I land Iām going West to see Mr. Barton and get some details. Write me care of the Blackstone, Chicago.
Sāever, dear Boswell,
Samuel Johnson.
Book II The Education of a Personage I The DĆ©butanteThe time is February. The place is a large, dainty bedroom in the Connage house on Sixty-eighth Street, New York. A girlās room: pink walls and curtains and a pink bedspread on a cream-colored bed. Pink and cream are the motifs of the room, but the only article of furniture in full view is a luxurious dressing-table with a glass top and a three-sided mirror. On the walls there is an expensive print of Cherry Ripe, a few polite dogs by Landseer, and the King of the Black Isles, by Maxfield Parrish.
Great disorder consisting of the following items: (1) seven or eight empty cardboard boxes, with tissue-paper tongues hanging panting from their mouths; (2) an assortment of street dresses mingled with their sisters of the evening, all upon the table, all evidently new; (3) a roll of tulle, which has lost its dignity and wound itself tortuously around everything in sight, and (4) upon the two small chairs, a collection of lingerie that beggars description. One would enjoy seeing the bill called forth by the finery displayed and one is possessed by a desire to see the princess for whose benefitā āLook! Thereās someone! Disappointment! This is only a maid hunting for somethingā āshe lifts a heap from a chairā āNot there; another heap, the dressing-table, the chiffonier drawers. She brings to light several beautiful chemises and an amazing pajama but this does not satisfy herā āshe goes out.
An indistinguishable mumble from the next room.
Now, we are getting warm. This is Alecās mother, Mrs. Connage, ample, dignified, rouged to the dowager point and quite worn out. Her lips move significantly as she looks for it. Her search is less thorough than the maidās but there is a touch of fury in it, that quite makes up for its sketchiness. She stumbles on the tulle and her ādamnā is quite audible. She retires, empty-handed.
More chatter outside and a girlās voice, a very spoiled voice, says: āOf all the stupid peopleā āā
After a pause a third seeker enters, not she of the spoiled voice, but a younger edition. This is Cecelia Connage, sixteen, pretty, shrewd, and constitutionally good-humored. She is dressed for the evening in a gown the obvious simplicity of which probably bores her. She goes to the nearest pile, selects a small pink garment and holds it up appraisingly.
CeceliaPink?
RosalindOutside. Yes!
CeceliaVery snappy?
RosalindYes!
CeceliaIāve got it!
She sees herself in the mirror of the dressing-table and commences to shimmy enthusiastically.
RosalindOutside. What are you doingā ātrying it on?
Cecelia ceases and goes out carrying the garment at the right shoulder.
From the other door, enters Alec Connage. He looks around quickly and in a huge voice shouts: Mama! There is a chorus of protest from next door and encouraged he starts toward it, but is repelled by another chorus.
AlecSo thatās where you all are! Amory Blaine is here.
CeceliaQuickly. Take him downstairs.
AlecOh, he is downstairs.
Mrs. ConnageWell, you can show him where his room is. Tell him Iām sorry that I canāt meet him now.
AlecHeās heard a lot about you all. I wish youād hurry. Fatherās telling him all about the war and heās restless. Heās sort of temperamental.
This last suffices to draw Cecelia into the room.
CeceliaSeating herself high upon lingerie. How do you meanā ātemperamental? You used to say that about him in letters.
AlecOh, he writes stuff.
CeceliaDoes he play the piano?
AlecDonāt think so.
CeceliaSpeculatively. Drink?
AlecYesā ānothing queer about him.
CeceliaMoney?
AlecGood Lordā āask him, he used to have a lot, and heās got some income now.
Mrs. Connage appears.
Mrs. ConnageAlec, of course weāre glad to have any friend of yoursā ā
AlecYou certainly ought to meet Amory.
Mrs. ConnageOf course, I want to. But I think itās so childish of you to leave a perfectly good home to go and live with two other boys in some impossible apartment. I hope it isnāt in order that you can all drink as much
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