Читать книгу The Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald онлайн
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“You’re a quaint little determinist,” laughed Anthony. “It’s your world, isn’t it?”
“Well—” she said with a quick upward glance, “isn’t it? As long as I’m—young.”
She had paused slightly before the last word and Anthony suspected that she had started to say “beautiful.” It was undeniably what she had intended.
Her eyes brightened and he waited for her to enlarge on the theme. He had drawn her out, at any rate—he bent forward slightly to catch the words.
But “Let’s dance!” was all she said.
Admiration.
That winter afternoon at the Plaza was the first of a succession of “dates” Anthony made with her in the blurred and stimulating days before Christmas. Invariably she was busy. What particular strata of the city’s social life claimed her he was a long time finding out. It seemed to matter very little. She attended the semi-public charity dances at the big hotels; he saw her several times at dinner parties in Sherry’s, and once as he waited for her to dress, Mrs. Gilbert, apropos of her daughter’s habit of “going,” rattled off an amazing holiday programme that included half a dozen dances to which Anthony had received cards.