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AMORY, SON OF BEATRICE
SPIRES AND GARGOYLES
THE EGOTIST CONSIDERS
NARCISSUS OFF DUTY
THE DEBUTANTE
EXPERIMENTS IN CONVALESCENCE
YOUNG IRONY
THE SUPERCILIOUS SACRIFICE
THE EGOTIST BECOMES A PERSONAGE

 

"Myra," he said, lowering his voice and choosing his words carefully, 

"I beg a thousand pardons. Can you ever forgive me?" She regarded 

him gravely, his intent green eyes, his mouth, that to her 

thirteen-year-old, arrow-collar taste was the quintessence of romance. 

Yes, Myra could forgive him very easily. 

 

"Why--yes--sure." 

 

He looked at her again, and then dropped his eyes. He had lashes. 

 

"I'm awful," he said sadly. "I'm diff'runt. I don't know why I make faux 

pas. 'Cause I don't care, I s'pose." Then, recklessly: "I been smoking 

too much. I've got t'bacca heart." 

 

Myra pictured an all-night tobacco debauch, with Amory pale and reeling 

from the effect of nicotined lungs. She gave a little gasp. 

 

"Oh, _Amory_, don't smoke. You'll stunt your _growth!_" 

 

"I don't care," he persisted gloomily. "I gotta. I got the habit. I've 

done a lot of things that if my fambly knew"--he hesitated, giving her 

imagination time to picture dark horrors--"I went to the burlesque show 

last week." 

 

Myra was quite overcome. He turned the green eyes on her again. "You're 

the only girl in town I like much," he exclaimed in a rush of sentiment. 

"You're simpatico." 

 

Myra was not sure that she was, but it sounded stylish though vaguely 

improper. 

 

Thick dusk had descended outside, and as the limousine made a sudden 

turn she was jolted against him; their hands touched. 

 

"You shouldn't smoke, Amory," she whispered. "Don't you know that?" 

 

He shook his head. 

 

"Nobody cares." 

 

Myra hesitated. 

 

"_I_ care." 

 

Something stirred within Amory. 

 

"Oh, yes, you do! You got a crush on Froggy Parker. I guess everybody 

knows that." 

 

"No, I haven't," very slowly. 

 

A silence, while Amory thrilled. There was something fascinating about 

Myra, shut away here cosily from the dim, chill air. Myra, a little 

bundle of clothes, with strands of yellow hair curling out from under 

her skating cap. 

 

"Because I've got a crush, too--" He paused, for he heard in the 

distance the sound of young laughter, and, peering through the frosted 

glass along the lamp-lit street, he made out the dark outline of the 


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