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

"This Side of Paradise"

Then they hurried through the little
town and it all flashed upon his consciousness to a mighty paean of
emotion. . . .
"Oh, good Lord! _Look_ at it!" he cried.
"What?"
"Let me out, quick--I haven't seen it for eight years! Oh, gentlefolk,
stop the car!"
"What an odd child!" remarked Alec.
"I do believe he's a bit eccentric."
The car was obligingly drawn up at a curb, and Amory ran for the
boardwalk. First, he realized that the sea was blue and that there was
an enormous quantity of it, and that it roared and roared--really all the
banalities about the ocean that one could realize, but if any one had
told him then that these things were banalities, he would have gaped in
wonder.
"Now we'll get lunch," ordered Kerry, wandering up with the crowd.
"Come on, Amory, tear yourself away and get practical."
"We'll try the best hotel first," he went on, "and thence and so forth."
They strolled along the boardwalk to the most imposing hostelry in sight,
and, entering the dining-room, scattered about a table.
"Eight Bronxes," commanded Alec, "and a club sandwich and Juliennes.


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