Читать книгу The Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald онлайн
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Jesse was puzzled but not alarmed.
“Well, you say here—let me see.” Burne opened the paper and read: “‘He who is not with me is against me, as that gentleman said who was notoriously capable of only coarse distinctions and puerile generalities.’”
“What of it?” Ferrenby began to look alarmed. “Oliver Cromwell said it, didn’t he? or was it Washington, or one of the saints? Good Lord, I’ve forgotten.”
Burne roared with laughter.
“Oh, Jesse, oh, good, kind Jesse.”
“Who said it, for Pete’s sake?”
“Well,” said Burne, recovering his voice, “St. Matthew attributes it to Christ.”
“My God!” cried Jesse, and collapsed backward into the waste-basket.
Amory Writes a Poem.
The weeks tore by. Amory wandered occasionally to New York on the chance of finding a new shining green auto-bus, that its stick-of-candy glamour might penetrate his disposition. One day he ventured into a stock-company revival of a play whose name was faintly familiar. The curtain rose—he watched casually as a girl entered. A few phrases rang in his ear and touched a faint chord of memory. Where—? When—?