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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

too much a part of my days and nights to ever let me think of 

another girl. I meet them all the time and they don't interest me. 

I'm not pretending to be blasť, because it's not that. It's just 

that I'm in love. Oh, _dearest_ Isabelle (somehow I can't call you 

just Isabelle, and I'm afraid I'll come out with the "dearest" 

before your family this June), you've got to come to the prom, 

and then I'll come up to your house for a day and everything'll be 

perfect.... 

 

And so on in an eternal monotone that seemed to both of them infinitely 

charming, infinitely new. 

 

***** 

 

June came and the days grew so hot and lazy that they could not worry 

even about exams, but spent dreamy evenings on the court of Cottage, 

talking of long subjects until the sweep of country toward Stony Brook 

became a blue haze and the lilacs were white around tennis-courts, and 

words gave way to silent cigarettes.... Then down deserted Prospect and 

along McCosh with song everywhere around them, up to the hot joviality 

of Nassau Street. 

 

Tom D'Invilliers and Amory walked late in those days. A gambling fever 

swept through the sophomore class and they bent over the bones till 

three o'clock many a sultry night. After one session they came out of 

Sloane's room to find the dew fallen and the stars old in the sky. 

 

"Let's borrow bicycles and take a ride," Amory suggested. 

 

"All right. I'm not a bit tired and this is almost the last night of the 

year, really, because the prom stuff starts Monday." 

 

They found two unlocked bicycles in Holder Court and rode out about 

half-past three along the Lawrenceville Road. 

 

"What are you going to do this summer, Amory?" 

 

"Don't ask me--same old things, I suppose. A month or two in Lake 

Geneva--I'm counting on you to be there in July, you know--then there'll 

be Minneapolis, and that means hundreds of summer hops, parlor-snaking, 

getting bored--But oh, Tom," he added suddenly, "hasn't this year been 

slick!" 

 

"No," declared Tom emphatically, a new Tom, clothed by Brooks, shod 


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