Читать книгу The Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald онлайн

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“Are you happy?” he asked suddenly.

She nodded.

“Always happy near the sea. You know,” she went on, “I’ve been thinking all day that you and I are somewhat alike. We’re both rebels—only for different reasons. Two years ago, when I was just eighteen, and you were——”

“Twenty-five.”

“—well, we were both conventional successes. I was an utterly devastating débutante and you were a prosperous musician just commissioned in the army——”

“Gentleman by act of Congress,” he put in ironically.

“Well, at any rate, we both fitted. If our corners were not rubbed off they were at least pulled in. But deep in us both was something that made us require more for happiness. I didn’t know what I wanted. I went from man to man, restless, impatient, month by month getting less acquiescent and more dissatisfied. I used to sit sometimes chewing at the insides of my mouth and thinking I was going crazy—I had a frightful sense of transiency. I wanted things now—now—now! Here I was—beautiful—I am, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” agreed Carlyle tentatively.