The F. Scott Fitzgerald Megapack by F. Scott Fitzgerald

Author:F. Scott Fitzgerald
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: anthology, short stories, the great gatsby, tender is the night, classics
ISBN: 9781479408887
Publisher: Wildside Press LLC
Published: 2014-03-23T16:00:00+00:00

THE BEAUTIFUL AND DAMNED (Book 2)

BOOK 2

CHAPTER I

THE RADIANT HOUR

After a fortnight Anthony and Gloria began to indulge in “practical discussions,” as they called those sessions when under the guise of severe realism they walked in an eternal moonlight.

“Not as much as I do you,” the critic of belles-lettres would insist. “If you really loved me you’d want every one to know it.”

“I do,” she protested; “I want to stand on the street corner like a sandwich man, informing all the passers-by.”

“Then tell me all the reasons why you’re going to marry me in June.”

“Well, because you’re so clean. You’re sort of blowy clean, like I am. There’s two sorts, you know. One’s like Dick: he’s clean like polished pans. You and I are clean like streams and winds. I can tell whenever I see a person whether he is clean, and if so, which kind of clean he is.”

“We’re twins.”

Ecstatic thought!

“Mother says”—she hesitated uncertainly—“mother says that two souls are sometimes created together and—and in love before they’re born.”

Bilphism gained its easiest convert.… After a while he lifted up his head and laughed soundlessly toward the ceiling. When his eyes came back to her he saw that she was angry.

“Why did you laugh?” she cried, “you’ve done that twice before. There’s nothing funny about our relation to each other. I don’t mind playing the fool, and I don’t mind having you do it, but I can’t stand it when we’re together.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t say you’re sorry! If you can’t think of anything better than that, just keep quiet!”

“I love you.”

“I don’t care.”

There was a pause. Anthony was depressed.… At length Gloria murmured:

“I’m sorry I was mean.”

“You weren’t. I was the one.”

Peace was restored—the ensuing moments were so much more sweet and sharp and poignant. They were stars on this stage, each playing to an audience of two: the passion of their pretense created the actuality. Here, finally, was the quintessence of self-expression—yet it was probable that for the most part their love expressed Gloria rather than Anthony. He felt often like a scarcely tolerated guest at a party she was giving.

Telling Mrs. Gilbert had been an embarrassed matter. She sat stuffed into a small chair and listened with an intense and very blinky sort of concentration. She must have known it—for three weeks Gloria had seen no one else—and she must have noticed that this time there was an authentic difference in her daughter’s attitude. She had been given special deliveries to post; she had heeded, as all mothers seem to heed, the hither end of telephone conversations, disguised but still rather warm—

—Yet she had delicately professed surprise and declared herself immensely pleased; she doubtless was; so were the geranium plants blossoming in the window-boxes, and so were the cabbies when the lovers sought the romantic privacy of hansom cabs—quaint device—and the staid bill of fares on which they scribbled “you know I do,” pushing it over for the other to see.

But between kisses Anthony and this golden girl quarrelled incessantly.

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