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Fitzgerald, F. Scott (Francis Scott), 1896-1940

"The Beautiful and Damned"

We must be satisfied with hoping that such fatuous accounts of
ourselves as we make to our wives and children and business associates
are accepted as true.
"It seems to me," Anthony was saying earnestly, "that the position of a
man with neither necessity nor ambition is unfortunate. Heaven knows
it'd be pathetic of me to be sorry for myself--yet, sometimes I
envy Dick."
Her silence was encouragement. It was as near as she ever came to an
intentional lure.
"--And there used to be dignified occupations for a gentleman who had
leisure, things a little more constructive than filling up the landscape
with smoke or juggling some one else's money. There's science, of
course: sometimes I wish I'd taken a good foundation, say at Boston
Tech. But now, by golly, I'd have to sit down for two years and struggle
through the fundamentals of physics and chemistry."
She yawned.
"I've told you I don't know what anybody ought to do," she said
ungraciously, and at her indifference his rancor was born again.
"Aren't you interested in anything except yourself?"
"Not much."
He glared; his growing enjoyment in the conversation was ripped to
shreds.


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