Once we were one person, and always it will be a little that way. - F. Scott Fitzgerald

I want to die violently instead of fading out sentimentally.

He had seen me several times, and had intended to call on me long before, but a peculiar combination of circumstances had prevented it.

Those were the days of "Florodora" and of sextets, of pinched-in waists and blown-out sleeves, of almost bustles and absolute ballet skirts, but here, without doubt, disguised as she might be by the unaccustomed stiffness and old fashion of her costume, was a butterfly of butterflies. Here was the gayety of the period — the soft wine of eyes, the songs that flurried hearts, the toasts and tie bouquets, the dances and the dinners. Here was a Venus of the hansom, cab, the Gibson girl in her glorious prime. Here was...