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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

the door of the cafe, soon enough for the five-o'clock train back to 

Yale or Princeton; about one-fourth continued on into the dimmer hours 

and gathered strange dust from strange places. Their party was scheduled 

to be one of the harmless kind. Fred Sloane and Phoebe Column were old 

friends; Axia and Amory new ones. But strange things are prepared even 

in the dead of night, and the unusual, which lurks least in the cafe, 

home of the prosaic and inevitable, was preparing to spoil for him 

the waning romance of Broadway. The way it took was so inexpressibly 

terrible, so unbelievable, that afterward he never thought of it as 

experience; but it was a scene from a misty tragedy, played far behind 

the veil, and that it meant something definite he knew. 

 

About one o'clock they moved to Maxim's, and two found them in 

Deviniere's. Sloane had been drinking consecutively and was in a state 

of unsteady exhilaration, but Amory was quite tiresomely sober; they 

had run across none of those ancient, corrupt buyers of champagne who 

usually assisted their New York parties. They were just through dancing 

and were making their way back to their chairs when Amory became aware 

that some one at a near-by table was looking at him. He turned and 

glanced casually... a middle-aged man dressed in a brown sack suit, it 

was, sitting a little apart at a table by himself and watching their 

party intently. At Amory's glance he smiled faintly. Amory turned to 

Fred, who was just sitting down. 

 

"Who's that pale fool watching us?" he complained indignantly. 

 

"Where?" cried Sloane. "We'll have him thrown out!" He rose to his feet 

and swayed back and forth, clinging to his chair. "Where is he?" 

 

Axia and Phoebe suddenly leaned and whispered to each other across the 

table, and before Amory realized it they found themselves on their way 

to the door. 

 

"Where now?" 

 

"Up to the flat," suggested Phoebe. "We've got brandy and fizz--and 

everything's slow down here to-night." 

 

Amory considered quickly. He hadn't been drinking, and decided that if 

he took no more, it would be reasonably discreet for him to trot along 


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