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

"Tales of the Jazz Age"

There was no fire--what
smoke there was drifted off mingling with the sunshine, and for a few
minutes longer a powdery dust of marble drifted from the great
featureless pile that had once been the house of jewels. There was no
more sound and the three people were alone in the valley.

9
At sunset John and his two companions reached the huge cliff which had
marked the boundaries of the Washington's dominion, and looking back
found the valley tranquil and lovely in the dusk. They sat down to
finish the food which Jasmine had brought with her in a basket,
"There!" she said, as she spread the table-cloth and put the
sandwiches in a neat pile upon it. "Don't they look tempting? I always
think that food tastes better outdoors."
"With that remark," remarked Kismine, "Jasmine enters the middle
class."
"Now," said John eagerly, "turn out your pocket and let's see what
jewels you brought along. If you made a good selection we three ought
to live comfortably all the rest of our lives."
Obediently Kismine put her hand in her pocket and tossed two handfuls
of glittering stones before him. "Not so bad," cried John
enthusiastically. "They aren't very big, but-Hallo!" His expression
changed as he held one of them up to the declining sun. "Why, these
aren't diamonds! There's something the matter!
"By golly!" exclaimed Kismine, with a startled look. "What an idiot I
am!"
"Why, these are rhinestones!" cried John.


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