The other evening at a dancing club a young man in a gray suit, soft shirt, loosely tied scarf shook his tousled yellow hair engagingly, introduced me to the beautiful lady with whom he was dancing and sat down. They were Mr. and Mrs. F. Scott Fitzgerald, and Scott seems to have changed not one whit from the first time I met him at Princeton, when he was an eager undergraduate bent upon becoming a great author. He is still eager. He is still bent upon becoming a great author. He is at work now on a novel which his wife...
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