This Side of Paradise F. Scott Fitzgerald (mini ebook reader .txt) 📖

and talked to him and promised him an Indian suit⁠—and next day he remembered and bought it⁠—and, oh, it was so sweet and I couldn’t help thinking he’d be so nice to⁠—to our children⁠—take care of them⁠—and I wouldn’t have to worry. Amory

In despair. Rosalind! Rosalind!

Rosalind

With a faint roguishness. Don’t look so consciously suffering.

Amory

What power we have of hurting each other!

Rosalind

Commencing to sob again. It’s been so perfect⁠—you and I. So like a dream that I’d longed for and never thought I’d find. The first real unselfishness I’ve ever felt in my life. And I can’t see it fade out in a colorless atmosphere!

Amory

It won’t⁠—it won’t!

Rosalind

I’d rather keep it as a beautiful memory⁠—tucked away in my heart.

Amory

Yes, women can do that⁠—but not men. I’d remember always, not the beauty of it while it lasted, but just the bitterness, the long bitterness.

Rosalind

Don’t!

Amory

All the years never to see you, never to kiss you, just a gate shut and barred⁠—you don’t dare be my wife.

Rosalind

No⁠—no⁠—I’m taking the hardest course, the strongest course. Marrying you would be a failure and I never fail⁠—if you don’t stop walking up and down I’ll scream!

Again he sinks despairingly onto the lounge.

Amory

Come over here and kiss me.

Rosalind

No.

Amory

Don’t you want to kiss me?

Rosalind

Tonight I want you to love me calmly and coolly.

Amory

The beginning of the end.

Rosalind

With a burst of insight. Amory, you’re young. I’m young. People excuse us now for our poses and vanities, for treating people like Sancho and yet getting away with it. They excuse us now. But you’ve got a lot of knocks coming to you⁠—

Amory

And you’re afraid to take them with me.

Rosalind

No, not that. There was a poem I read somewhere⁠—you’ll say Ella Wheeler Wilcox and laugh⁠—but listen:

“For this is wisdom⁠—to love and live,
To take what fate or the gods may give,
To ask no question, to make no prayer,
To kiss the lips and caress the hair,
Speed passion’s ebb as we greet its flow,
To have and to hold, and, in time⁠—let go.”

Amory

But we haven’t had.

Rosalind

Amory, I’m yours⁠—you know it. There have been times in the last month I’d have been completely yours if you’d said so. But I can’t marry you and ruin both our lives.

Amory

We’ve got to take our chance for happiness.

Rosalind

Dawson says I’d learn to love him.

Amory with his head sunk in his hands does not move. The life seems suddenly gone out of him.

Rosalind

Lover! Lover! I can’t do with you, and I can’t imagine life without you.

Amory

Rosalind, we’re on each other’s nerves. It’s just that we’re both high-strung, and this week⁠—

His voice is curiously old. She crosses to him and taking his face in her hands, kisses him.

Rosalind

I can’t, Amory. I can’t be shut away from the trees and flowers, cooped up in a little flat, waiting for you. You’d hate me in a narrow atmosphere. I’d make you hate me.

Again she is blinded by sudden uncontrolled tears.

Amory

Rosalind⁠—

Rosalind

Oh, darling, go⁠—Don’t make it harder! I can’t stand it⁠—

Amory

His face drawn, his voice strained. Do you know what you’re saying? Do you mean forever?

There is a difference somehow in the quality of their suffering.

Rosalind

Can’t you see⁠—

Amory

I’m afraid I can’t if you love me. You’re afraid of taking two years’ knocks with me.

Rosalind

I wouldn’t be the Rosalind you love.

Amory

A little hysterically. I can’t give you up! I can’t, that’s all! I’ve got to have you!

Rosalind

A hard note in her voice. You’re being a baby now.

Amory

Wildly. I don’t care! You’re spoiling our lives!

Rosalind

I’m doing the wise thing, the only thing.

Amory

Are you going to marry Dawson Ryder?

Rosalind

Oh, don’t ask me. You know I’m old in some ways⁠—in others⁠—well, I’m just a little girl. I like sunshine and pretty things and cheerfulness⁠—and I dread responsibility. I don’t want to think about pots and kitchens and brooms. I want to worry whether my legs will get slick and brown when I swim in the summer.

Amory

And you love me.

Rosalind

That’s just why it has to end. Drifting hurts too much. We can’t have any more scenes like this.

She draws his ring from her finger and hands it to him. Their eyes blind again with tears.

Amory

His lips against her wet cheek. Don’t! Keep it, please⁠—oh, don’t break my heart!

She presses the ring softly into his hand.

Rosalind

Brokenly. You’d better go.

Amory

Goodbye⁠—

She looks at him once more, with infinite longing, infinite sadness.

Rosalind

Don’t ever forget me, Amory⁠—

Amory

Goodbye⁠—

He goes to the door, fumbles for the knob, finds it⁠—she sees him throw back his head⁠—and he is gone. Gone⁠—she half starts from the lounge and then sinks forward on her face into the pillows.

Rosalind

Oh, God, I want to die! After a moment she rises and with her eyes closed feels her way to the door. Then she turns and looks once more at the room. Here they had sat and dreamed: that tray she had so often filled with matches for him; that shade that they had discreetly lowered one long Sunday afternoon. Misty-eyed she stands and remembers; she speaks aloud. Oh, Amory, what have I done to you?

And deep under the aching sadness that will pass in time, Rosalind feels that she has lost something, she knows not what, she knows not why.

II Experiments in Convalescence

The Knickerbocker Bar, beamed upon by Maxfield Parrish’s jovial, colorful Old King Cole, was well crowded. Amory stopped in the entrance and looked at his wristwatch; he wanted particularly to know the time, for something in his mind that catalogued and classified liked to chip things off cleanly. Later it would satisfy him in a vague way to be able to think “that thing ended at exactly twenty minutes after eight on Thursday, June 10, 1919.” This was allowing for the walk