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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

 

Kerry shook his head. 

 

"No chance. I wrote a St. Timothy girl a really loving letter last year. 

In one place I got rattled and said: 'My God, how I love you!' She took 

a nail scissors, clipped out the 'My God' and showed the rest of the 

letter all over school. Doesn't work at all. I'm just 'good old Kerry' 

and all that rot." 

 

Amory smiled and tried to picture himself as "good old Amory." He failed 

completely. 

 

February dripped snow and rain, the cyclonic freshman mid-years passed, 

and life in 12 Univee continued interesting if not purposeful. Once a 

day Amory indulged in a club sandwich, cornflakes, and Julienne potatoes 

at "Joe's," accompanied usually by Kerry or Alec Connage. The latter was 

a quiet, rather aloof slicker from Hotchkiss, who lived next door and 

shared the same enforced singleness as Amory, due to the fact that 

his entire class had gone to Yale. "Joe's" was unaesthetic and faintly 

unsanitary, but a limitless charge account could be opened there, a 

convenience that Amory appreciated. His father had been experimenting 

with mining stocks and, in consequence, his allowance, while liberal, 

was not at all what he had expected. 

 

"Joe's" had the additional advantage of seclusion from curious 

upper-class eyes, so at four each afternoon Amory, accompanied by friend 

or book, went up to experiment with his digestion. One day in March, 

finding that all the tables were occupied, he slipped into a chair 

opposite a freshman who bent intently over a book at the last table. 

They nodded briefly. For twenty minutes Amory sat consuming bacon buns 

and reading "Mrs. Warren's Profession" (he had discovered Shaw quite 

by accident while browsing in the library during mid-years); the other 

freshman, also intent on his volume, meanwhile did away with a trio of 

chocolate malted milks. 

 

By and by Amory's eyes wandered curiously to his fellow-luncher's book. 

He spelled out the name and title upside down--"Marpessa," by Stephen 

Phillips. This meant nothing to him, his metrical education having been 

confined to such Sunday classics as "Come into the Garden, Maude," and 


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