![]() ![]() “They don’t put wood alcohol in champagne. “Shut up, you nut!” said the bad man gently. I’ll drink every drop of it, I don’t care if it kills me.” “Baily,” said Perry tensely, “I’ll drink your champagne. A third of it’s yours, Perry, if you’ll come upstairs and help Martin Macy and me drink it.” ![]() “Perry,” said the bad man softly when the roadster drew up beside him at the curb, “I’ve got six quarts of the doggonedest still champagne you ever tasted. In The Camel’s Back life is a funny masquerade: A wall had sprung up suddenly around him hedging him in, a wall as definite and tangible as the white wall of his bare room. With the awakening of his emotions, his first perception was a sense of futility, a dull ache at the utter grayness of his life. In The Jelly-Bean life is a precarious gamble of chance: Scott Fitzgerald was a great scholar of human emptiness… And his stories, despite their wickedness, boast an atmosphere of merry fairytales. Some lives just ring empty like empty crocks… And F. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |