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Fitzgerald, F. Scott (Francis Scott), 1896-1940

"Tales of the Jazz Age"

Tried my best."
"Money nothing!" she snapped. "You haven't been near me for ten days.
What's the matter?"
He shook his head slowly.
"Been very low, Jewel. Been sick."
"Why didn't you tell me if you were sick. I don't care about the money
that bad. I didn't start bothering you about it at all until you began
neglecting me."
Again he shook his head.
"Haven't been neglecting you. Not at all."
"Haven't! You haven't been near me for three weeks, unless you been so
drunk you didn't know what you were doing."
"Been sick. Jewel," he repeated, turning his eyes upon her wearily.
"You're well enough to come and play with your society friends here
all right. You told me you'd meet me for dinner, and you said you'd
have some money for me. You didn't even bother to ring me up."
"I couldn't get any money."
"Haven't I just been saying that doesn't matter? I wanted to see
_you_, Gordon, but you seem to prefer your somebody else."
He denied this bitterly.
"Then get your hat and come along," she suggested. Gordon
hesitated--and she came suddenly close to him and slipped her arms
around his neck.
"Come on with me, Gordon," she said in a half whisper. "We'll go over
to Devineries' and have a drink, and then we can go up to my
apartment."
"I can't, Jewel,----"
"You can," she said intensely.
"I'm sick as a dog!"
"Well, then, you oughtn't to stay here and dance.


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