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Book online Ā«The Beautiful and Damned F. Scott Fitzgerald (top novels to read TXT) šŸ“–Ā». Author F. Scott Fitzgerald



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most brilliant, the most originalā ā€”smart, quiet and among the saved.

This is the man whom Anthony considers his best friend. This is the only man of all his acquaintance whom he admires and, to a bigger extent than he likes to admit to himself, envies.

They are glad to see each other nowā ā€”their eyes are full of kindness as each feels the full effect of novelty after a short separation. They are drawing a relaxation from each otherā€™s presence, a new serenity; Maury Noble behind that fine and absurdly catlike face is all but purring. And Anthony, nervous as a will-oā€™-the-wisp, restlessā ā€”he is at rest now.

They are engaged in one of those easy short-speech conversations that only men under thirty or men under great stress indulge in.

Anthony Seven oā€™clock. Whereā€™s the Caramel? Impatiently. I wish heā€™d finish that interminable novel. Iā€™ve spent more time hungryā ā€” Maury Heā€™s got a new name for it. ā€œThe Demon Loverā€ā ā€”not bad, eh? Anthony Interested. ā€œThe Demon Loverā€? Oh ā€œwoman wailingā€ā ā€”Noā ā€”not a bit bad! Not bad at allā ā€”dā€™you think? Maury Rather good. What time did you say? Anthony Seven. Maury His eyes narrowingā ā€”not unpleasantly, but to express a faint disapproval. Drove me crazy the other day. Anthony How? Maury That habit of taking notes. Anthony Me, too. Seems Iā€™d said something night before that he considered material but heā€™d forgotten itā ā€”so he had at me. Heā€™d say ā€œCanā€™t you try to concentrate?ā€ And Iā€™d say ā€œYou bore me to tears. How do I remember?ā€ Maury laughs noiselessly, by a sort of bland and appreciative widening of his features. Maury Dick doesnā€™t necessarily see more than anyone else. He merely can put down a larger proportion of what he sees. Anthony That rather impressive talentā ā€” Maury Oh, yes. Impressive! Anthony And energyā ā€”ambitious, well-directed energy. Heā€™s so entertainingā ā€”heā€™s so tremendously stimulating and exciting. Often thereā€™s something breathless in being with him. Maury Oh, yes. Silence, and then: Anthony With his thin, somewhat uncertain face at its most convinced. But not indomitable energy. Some day, bit by bit, itā€™ll blow away, and his rather impressive talent with it, and leave only a wisp of a man, fretful and egotistic and garrulous. Maury With laughter. Here we sit vowing to each other that little Dick sees less deeply into things than we do. And Iā€™ll bet he feels a measure of superiority on his sideā ā€”creative mind over merely critical mind and all that. Anthony Oh, yes. But heā€™s wrong. Heā€™s inclined to fall for a million silly enthusiasms. If it wasnā€™t that heā€™s absorbed in realism and therefore has to adopt the garments of the cynic heā€™d beā ā€”heā€™d be credulous as a college religious leader. Heā€™s an idealist. Oh, yes. He thinks heā€™s not, because heā€™s rejected Christianity. Remember him in college? Just swallow every writer whole, one after another, ideas, technic, and characters, Chesterton, Shaw, Wells, each one as easily as the last. Maury Still considering his own last observation. I remember. Anthony Itā€™s true. Natural born fetish-worshipper. Take artā ā€” Maury Letā€™s order. Heā€™ll beā ā€” Anthony Sure. Letā€™s order. I told himā ā€” Maury Here he comes. Lookā ā€”heā€™s going to bump that waiter. He lifts his finger as a signalā ā€”lifts it as though it were a soft and friendly claw. Here yā€™are, Caramel. A New Voice Fiercely. Hello, Maury. Hello, Anthony Comstock Patch. How is old Adamā€™s grandson? DĆ©butantes still after you, eh?

In person Richard Caramel is short and fairā ā€”he is to be bald at thirty-five. He has yellowish eyesā ā€”one of them startlingly clear, the other opaque as a muddy poolā ā€”and a bulging brow like a funny-paper baby. He bulges in other placesā ā€”his paunch bulges, prophetically, his words have an air of bulging from his mouth, even his dinner coat pockets bulge, as though from contamination, with a dog-eared collection of timetables, programmes, and miscellaneous scrapsā ā€”on these he takes his notes with great screwings up of his unmatched yellow eyes and motions of silence with his disengaged left hand.

When he reaches the table he shakes hands with Anthony and Maury. He is one of those men who invariably shake hands, even with people whom they have seen an hour before.

Anthony Hello, Caramel. Glad youā€™re here. We needed a comic relief. Maury Youā€™re late. Been racing the postman down the block? Weā€™ve been clawing over your character. Dick Fixing Anthony eagerly with the bright eye. Whatā€™d you say? Tell me and Iā€™ll write it down. Cut three thousand words out of Part One this afternoon. Maury Noble aesthete. And I poured alcohol into my stomach. Dick I donā€™t doubt it. I bet you two have been sitting here for an hour talking about liquor. Anthony We never pass out, my beardless boy. Maury We never go home with ladies we meet when weā€™re lit. Anthony All in our parties are characterized by a certain haughty distinction. Dick The particularly silly sort who boast about being ā€œtanksā€! Trouble is youā€™re both in the eighteenth century. School of the Old English Squire. Drink quietly until you roll under the table. Never have a good time. Oh, no, that isnā€™t done at all. Anthony This from Chapter Six, Iā€™ll bet. Dick Going to the theatre? Maury Yes. We intend to spend the evening doing some deep thinking over of lifeā€™s problems. The thing is tersely called The Woman. I presume that she will ā€œpay.ā€ Anthony My God! Is that what it is? Letā€™s go to the Follies again. Maury Iā€™m tired of it. Iā€™ve seen it three times. To Dick. The first time, we went out after Act One and found a most amazing bar. When we came back we entered the wrong theatre. Anthony Had a protracted dispute with a scared young couple we thought were in our seats. Dick As though talking to himself. I thinkā ā€”that when Iā€™ve done another novel and a play, and maybe a book of short stories, Iā€™ll do a musical comedy. Maury I knowā ā€”with intellectual lyrics that no one will listen to. And all the critics will groan and grunt about ā€œDear old Pinafore.ā€ And I shall go on shining as a brilliantly meaningless
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