Читать книгу The Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald онлайн

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“Hush! some one’s coming along the road—let’s go! Whoo-ee-oop!” And with a shout that probably gave the belated traveller a series of shivers, she turned her horse into the woods and Amory followed slowly, as he had followed her all day for three weeks.

The summer was over, but he had spent the days in watching Eleanor, a graceful, facile Manfred, build herself intellectual and imaginative pyramids while she revelled in the artificialities of the temperamental tens and they wrote poetry at the dinner-table.

When Vanity kissed Vanity, a hundred happy Junes ago, he pondered o’er her breathlessly, and, that all men might ever know, he rhymed her eyes with life and death:

“Thru Time I’ll save my love!” he said … yet Beauty vanished with his breath, and, with her lovers, she was dead …

—Ever his wit and not her eyes, ever his art and not her hair:

“Who’d learn a trick in rhyme, be wise and pause before his sonnet there” … So all my words, however true, might sing you to a thousandth June, and no one ever know that you were Beauty for an afternoon.