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Table of contents
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

distorted with a sort of infinite evil that twisted it like flame in 

the wind; _but he knew, for the half instant that the gong tanged and 

hummed, that it was the face of Dick Humbird._ 

 

Minutes later he sprang to his feet, realizing dimly that there was no 

more sound, and that he was alone in the graying alley. It was cold, and 

he started on a steady run for the light that showed the street at the 

other end. 

 

***** 

 

AT THE WINDOW 

 

It was late morning when he woke and found the telephone beside his bed 

in the hotel tolling frantically, and remembered that he had left word 

to be called at eleven. Sloane was snoring heavily, his clothes in a 

pile by his bed. They dressed and ate breakfast in silence, and then 

sauntered out to get some air. Amory's mind was working slowly, trying 

to assimilate what had happened and separate from the chaotic imagery 

that stacked his memory the bare shreds of truth. If the morning had 

been cold and gray he could have grasped the reins of the past in an 

instant, but it was one of those days that New York gets sometimes in 

May, when the air on Fifth Avenue is a soft, light wine. How much or how 

little Sloane remembered Amory did not care to know; he apparently had 

none of the nervous tension that was gripping Amory and forcing his mind 

back and forth like a shrieking saw. 

 

Then Broadway broke upon them, and with the babel of noise and the 

painted faces a sudden sickness rushed over Amory. 

 

"For God's sake, let's go back! Let's get off of this--this place!" 

 

Sloane looked at him in amazement. 

 

"What do you mean?" 

 

"This street, it's ghastly! Come on! let's get back to the Avenue!" 

 

"Do you mean to say," said Sloane stolidly, "that 'cause you had some 

sort of indigestion that made you act like a maniac last night, you're 

never coming on Broadway again?" 

 

Simultaneously Amory classed him with the crowd, and he seemed no longer 

Sloane of the debonair humor and the happy personality, but only one of 

the evil faces that whirled along the turbid stream. 

 

"Man!" he shouted so loud that the people on the corner turned and 


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