Читать книгу The Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald онлайн

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I felt like a character in a Victorian romance. The little living groups scattered around seemed to move in small spotlights around us, acting out a comedy “down stage.” I was self-conscious about myself but purely physically so; I was merely a property; but I was very self-conscious for my uncle. I dreaded the moment when he should lift his voice or overturn the table or kiss Mrs. Fulham bent dramatically back over his arm while the groups would start and stare. It was enormously unreal. I was introduced in a mumble and then forgotten.

“Tight again,” remarked Mrs. Fulham.

My uncle made no answer.

“Well, I’m having a heavy bridge game, and we’re ever so much behind. You can just have my dummy time. Aren’t you flattered?” She turned to me. “Your uncle probably told you all about himself and me. He’s behaving so badly this year. He used to be such a pathetic, innocent little boy and such a devil with the debutantes.”

My uncle broke in quickly with a rather grandiose air:

“That’s sufficient I think, Myra, for you.”