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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

bulwark against the decay of morals. Until the great mobs could be 

educated into a moral sense some one must cry: "Thou shalt not!" Yet 

any acceptance was, for the present, impossible. He wanted time and 

the absence of ulterior pressure. He wanted to keep the tree without 

ornaments, realize fully the direction and momentum of this new start. 

 

***** 

 

The afternoon waned from the purging good of three o'clock to the golden 

beauty of four. Afterward he walked through the dull ache of a setting 

sun when even the clouds seemed bleeding and at twilight he came to a 

graveyard. There was a dusky, dreamy smell of flowers and the ghost of a 

new moon in the sky and shadows everywhere. On an impulse he considered 

trying to open the door of a rusty iron vault built into the side of 

a hill; a vault washed clean and covered with late-blooming, weepy 

watery-blue flowers that might have grown from dead eyes, sticky to the 

touch with a sickening odor. 

 

Amory wanted to feel "William Dayfield, 1864." 

 

He wondered that graves ever made people consider life in vain. Somehow 

he could find nothing hopeless in having lived. All the broken columns 

and clasped hands and doves and angels meant romances. He fancied that 

in a hundred years he would like having young people speculate as to 

whether his eyes were brown or blue, and he hoped quite passionately 

that his grave would have about it an air of many, many years ago. It 

seemed strange that out of a row of Union soldiers two or three made 

him think of dead loves and dead lovers, when they were exactly like the 

rest, even to the yellowish moss. 

 

***** 

 

Long after midnight the towers and spires of Princeton were visible, 

with here and there a late-burning light--and suddenly out of the clear 

darkness the sound of bells. As an endless dream it went on; the spirit 

of the past brooding over a new generation, the chosen youth from the 

muddled, unchastened world, still fed romantically on the mistakes 

and half-forgotten dreams of dead statesmen and poets. Here was a new 


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